By Any Means
by ILoveToChin25
Summary: AU. Harry is Sorted into Slytherin, and it changes everything.
1. The Sorting Hat's Decision

_Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended…I don't own anything. Harry Potter and everything associated belongs to J.K. Rowling and affiliates. This is intended for entertainment only, and no profit is being made._

_Author's Note: I know this has been done probably a million times before, but I can never find a good "Harry is Sorted into Slytherin" fic. I DO know about the Sacrifices series, and I loved it, but it was extremely AU. I've always wondered what things would have been like if canon-Harry, in a canon-universe, managed to get Sorted into Slytherin. And I'm actually pretty sure he would have, had it not been for his meeting with Draco Malfoy on the train. So…the meeting with Draco on the train didn't happen, for the sake of this story._

_Note: This won't be a dark!Harry or evil!Harry fic. It will be very much our canon-Harry, just under a different set of circumstances. And I can't promise that I'll re-write the entire seven books…right now, I can only promise the first. But with that said, I hope everyone enjoys!_

Chapter One - The Sorting Hat's Decision

The Sorting Hat stayed on Harry's head a long time; longer, it seemed, than with anybody else. And Harry knew, just knew, that his worst fear was coming true - he really didn't belong at Hogwarts, didn't belong anywhere, and soon a professor was going to take the Hat off his head, tell him it had all been a mistake and he would have to leave. Oh, he could hear Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon now, telling him how stupid he'd been to believe he could fit in somewhere, even amongst freaks. Maybe he could beg Hagrid to let him stay in his hut…anything would be better than going back to the Dursleys'.

"SLYTHERIN!" The Hat finally exclaimed, interrupting Harry's inner musings. For a brief moment, Harry felt immense relief - he really _did_ belong somewhere - but then he realized how quiet the Great Hall had become, all except for the occupants of the Slytherin table, who were clapping uproariously. Numbly, he remembered Hagrid telling him about Slytherin, about how it was an evil House that produced Dark wizards…but Harry wasn't evil! It must have been a mistake, surely…

"Go on to your table, now, Potter," McGonagall told him, not unkindly, as she took the Hat. Harry nodded, sliding off the stool.

Along the way to the Slytherin table, Harry chanced a look at his new friend from the train, Ron Weasley. Ron was frowning slightly to himself, looking everywhere but at Harry. And though he should have been used to this sort of thing by now, Harry's heart gave a small lurch. Ron had been his first friend, not counting Hagrid, who was an adult and didn't count in the same way. His first friend, and now he wouldn't even look at Harry.

Harry swallowed, ignoring the stares and whispers and continuing to the Slytherin table. He eyed his new Housemates curiously - they certainly didn't _look _evil, in fact, a number of his fellow first years were standing up and clapping at his approach.

"We have Harry Potter! We have Harry Potter!" A girl with a slightly squashed face chanted excitedly, until an older student shot her a disapproving look, shutting her up quickly.

"We were placing bets on which House you'd go into," said a slightly heavyset girl with dark hair, after Harry had sat down. She grimaced slightly. "I figured you'd go into Gryffindor for sure, but Pansy here just knew you'd be in our House." She grinned. "I guess she was right!"

Harry blinked, bemused. This whole being-famous-thing would still take some getting used to. All he could think to say was, "Oh."

"I'm Millicent Bulstrode," the girl said, extending a hand. "And this is Pansy," she said, indicating to the squashed-face girl. Harry shook hands with them both, although he couldn't help but glance longingly at the Gryffindor table, where Ron was now seated and laughing boisterously with his new Housemates.

Finally, after Blaise Zabini was also sorted into Slytherin and Professor Dumbledore had made a speech, warning the students away from the Forbidden Forest and the third floor corridor, food materialized out of thin air to fill the table in front of him. Harry ate mechanically, in spite of all the times at the Dursleys' when he would have given anything for food to just appear.

"Move over, Pansy," a bossy, drawling voice demanded suddenly. Pansy shrugged, scooting so that a small, pointy faced boy with white-blond hair could sit beside Harry. With a start, Harry realized who he was - the boy from Madam Maulkin's, who had reminded Harry so much of Dudley, who had insulted Hagrid. Harry bristled slightly, filled once more with the immediate dislike he'd taken for this boy.

The boy stared straight at Harry for a moment, as if at a loss for words.

"You're Harry Potter," he said finally. "I'd heard you were on the train, but I didn't…" he trailed off, then drew up slightly, as though remembering himself. "I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." He held out a hand, which Harry took reluctantly.

Upon releasing Harry's hand, Draco's face broke into a grin. "Of course you're in Slytherin, though. It's where _everyone _important goes." Seemingly too excited to contain himself, Draco continued. "My family's been in Slytherin House for _centuries_, we're a very old family, you know. I can tell you everything there is to know, I probably know more than some of the professors."

The bragging - it was like Dudley all over again. Annoyed already, Harry said, "we've met before. I don't know if you remember…the robe shop?"

Draco's grin faded slightly. "Yes…you were with that half-giant, weren't you?"

"Yeah," Harry said shortly, his dislike for Draco Malfoy churning like acid in his gut.

"He's the gamekeeper here, you know," Draco continued, apparently oblivious. "Merlin knows why - my father says he ought to be sacked, it's only because he's best pals with Dumbledore that he stays on. Greatest wizard who ever lived…ha!"

Harry nearly made a sharp retort defending Hagrid, but at that moment two things happened: One, he happened to look up at the staff table, noticing right away that a pale wizard with lank black hair was staring straight at him, his black eyes boring coldly into Harry's. And two, at that same moment, his scar began to prickle and burn.

"What is it?" Draco asked, apparently having noticed Harry's wince of pain.

Harry shook his head. "At the staff table, the wizard with black hair…who is he?"

Draco looked at the staff table briefly, then smiled. "That's Professor Snape, our Head of House. He also teaches Potions. He's an old friend of my father's, back when they were at Hogwarts together. Why do you ask?"

Harry shook his head again, unwilling to take Draco into his confidence. If it were Ron, it would be different, he thought wistfully. "No reason," Harry said finally. "He just seems sort of…scary," he finished lamely.

Draco laughed. "He is, a little. But not to us."

"Why not?"

"Because we're his Slytherins, of course. He looks out for us, unlike everyone else." Draco patted Harry on the arm, much to his incredulity. "Don't worry about old Snape - I'll look out for you."

Harry fought the urge to snort, instead taking another bite of his food. Draco, apparently taking his silence as agreement, grinned broadly.

"First off," he went on, "you have to know who's important – and who's not."

Harry's shoulders tightened.

"You see them over there?" Draco pointed openly across the room. "The whole ginger-headed lot of them are Weasleys. Their father works for the Ministry, you see, and they're purebloods – well, supposedly – but they'll never go anywhere. Next to them – "

"What do you mean, 'purebloods'?" Harry interrupted, nearly trembling with anger. This boy was just like Dudley – a skinnier, more articulate Dudley, to be precise.

Draco stared at him as if he'd grown three heads. "Surely you're joking," he said with a small laugh. "_Everybody_ knows what that means."

"Yeah, well, I'm not everybody, am I," Harry snapped. He stared back.

Looking a bit unsure of himself for the first time, Draco lowered his voice, as if he didn't want others to hear.

"Purebloods are full witches and wizards. It means they don't have any Muggles in their family tree."

Harry remembered Hagrid mentioning that word earlier on. "Non-magic folk", he'd called them. "Why does that matter?" he asked.

"Why does that matter?" Draco puffed out his chest a bit, looking smug. "Because, _clearly_," he drawled, "since our blood isn't mixed, purebloods are more powerful, smarter – "

He rattled off a few more dramatic adjectives, gaining confidence with each, but Harry had heard enough.

Loudly enough that a few curious heads turned in their direction, Harry said, "would you mind shutting up?" The moment the words left his mouth, Harry was sure someone, most likely a professor, would come swooping down on him, tell him he would go without supper for a week, do extra chores, get up early. But none of that happened.

A couple people snickered, Draco gaped, his jaw literally hanging to his chest before snapping shut.

"What's wrong?" he asked. His face has reddened nearly to the shade of a ripe tomato.

Just then, a new course of food appeared on the tables. Savory aromas wafted to Harry's nose, making his mouth water, at last reminding him of how hungry he actually was. He sighed and glanced at Draco.

"Nothing," he muttered. "I'm just not in the mood to talk right now."

Looking only slightly less crestfallen, Draco smiled awkwardly before turning to his neighbor and launching into an animated conversation about something called Quidditch.

After a final, wistful look toward the Gryffindor table and his would've-been best friend, Harry concentrated on his food, all the while doing his best to ignore the slight burning on his forehead.

*

In Albus Dumbledore's very long life, very few truly surprising events had occurred.

Harry Potter's sorting into Slytherin was not one of them.

It was unfortunate, a bit alarming perhaps, but not altogether surprising. Well, at least not to Albus. From the corner of his eye, he could sense Severus's gaze lingering on the boy, surely wondering how someone who had once defeated the Dark Lord, his old master, could end up in his house. It seemed nonsensical, to say the least. But again, not to Albus. He, and he alone, suspected the reason for Harry's sorting. Oh, he'd taken as many precautions as possible; he'd even left young Harry oblivious as to his true heritage until now, hoping the innate goodness of James and Lily would outweigh any other… tendencies. And that, perhaps, was the most troubling.

Hagrid had seemed quite taken with the boy, raving about what a clever, nice young man he'd turned out to be. Quiet, polite, considerate, and completely befuddled by his newfound fame, Harry sounded as if he were exactly what Albus had been hoping for. And then the Sorting Hat had screamed "Slytherin!". It was most unsettling.

Albus held no unfounded prejudice against Slytherins. Not in the least. He, better than most, understood and even strived for the redemption of that house. He also believed even those who'd gone far down its path of destruction could be saved. But, Harry… Harry, the Boy-Who-Lived, defeater of the Dark Lord, savior of the Wizarding world – would he have to be saved from that path of destruction as well? Albus shook his head. Whatever happened, he would keep a close eye on him from now on.

*

Draco Malfoy could not believe his luck – Harry Potter! In his House! And though he knew that his father would probably have reprimanded him for such behavior, he couldn't help but to chatter and chatter away in his excitement. His father wasn't there, after all, and in every other aspect of life he would behave like the perfect paragon of breeding that he was.

Draco wasn't stupid – he could tell that Harry was still pining away for the Weasley he'd befriended on the train, and perhaps that was the reason why he hadn't responded as enthusiastically to Draco's attempts at conversation as he would have liked. But Draco also knew that he was superior in so many ways to Weasley – smarter, for one, _cleaner_, definitely, and certainly, much more clever and witty. In no time, Draco was certain that Harry would realize what a perfect best friend he had in Draco.

Draco was absolutely bursting to talk to Harry again by the time they reached their dormitories, but a thin, weedy looking boy beat him to it. The boy had been silent up until that point, choosing a bed and unpacking his trunk quietly, and generally keeping to himself.

"So, you're the one who defeated the Dark Lord," he said matter-of-factly to Harry. "Well, you don't look like much."

Harry bristled. "What?"

The boy shrugged. "Rumor has it that you must be a powerful wizard yourself, to have defeated the Dark Lord when you were just a baby. Some are even saying that you might be the new Dark Lord…just thought I'd find out for myself." The boy looked at Harry expectedly, patiently awaiting his reply.

"Excuse me, who are you?" Draco asked rudely, crossing his arms.

The boy raised his eyebrows, appearing slightly amused. "Theodore Nott. And you are…"

"Draco Malfoy," Draco replied, slightly miffed that the boy hadn't recognized him. "Nott…isn't your father in prison?"

The room fell silent for a moment. Finally, a dark-skinned boy with nearly doll-like features said, "wow."

Theodore simply shrugged. "Yeah, he is. What's it to you?" He then turned back to Harry. "Well, are you the new Dark Lord or not?"

Harry frowned. "Why would I want to be a Dark Lord? My parents are dead because of this…this Dark Lord you're talking about."

"Yeah, and you killed him," Theodore persisted. "So you've got to be pretty powerful. More powerful than Dumbledore, even."

Harry just shrugged, still frowning. "I don't know," he muttered. "I don't really want to talk about it, though."

"But - " Theodore began, but Draco cut him off.

"You heard him, Nott. He doesn't want to talk about it. So, there." Draco resisted the urge to stick his tongue out.

The dark-skinned boy laughed at that, then laughed harder when Theodore strode angrily back to his bed and yanked the curtain shut around himself.

"I'm Blaise, by the way," he introduced himself. "Blaise Zabini."

Remembering himself, Draco indicated to the two large boys hulking behind him - his friends, whom he'd been neglecting all evening. "This here is Vince, and this is Greg. They would have introduced themselves, but they're afraid to talk to new people."

"Draco…" Vince whined softly, invoking another fit of laughter from Blaise.

"Oh, this will be a great year, I can tell," Blaise said happily, falling back onto his pillows.

Stealing a glance at Harry, who was just now settling into his bed, Draco couldn't help but agree.

_Author's Note: Please let me know what you think!_


	2. Charms and the Trouble With Snape

_Author's Note: Thanks so much for the reviews! I pretty much started writing this for myself and decided to post it as an afterthought, so I'm glad everyone seems to be enjoying it. I know there are a lot of these floating around, so to be told that I have something unique to offer makes for an amazing feeling. Anyway, on to chapter two! _

Chapter Two – Charms and the Trouble With Snape

In spite of his initial shock at having been sorted into Slytherin, by breakfast the next morning Harry couldn't help but feel considerably better about things. After all, he was finally away from the Dursleys - although, unfortunately, he supposed he'd still have to see them in the summers - and the people in his House seemed to like him, though he still thought wistfully of Ron. He couldn't speak for the rest of the school, who alternated between staring at him as if he were a specimen in the zoo or ignoring him altogether, but that could hardly be helped. It was the staring that bothered him, really - he'd been used to being ignored, and even openly ridiculed, at primary school, but no one had ever stared.

The best thing, of course, and the thing that still made Harry practically shake with excitement and nervous anticipation - was that he was going to learn magic. Just like his parents had, once.

"Excited about today, Potter?" asked Blaise, grinning impishly. He speared a sausage, chewing thoughtfully. "Loads of questions, I'm sure. About Dark Lords and such. You know, maybe you should play up to it, really mess with people a bit. It would be fun."

"That's the _last _thing I want to do," Harry said crossly. "And please don't bring it up."

"Yeah," Draco finally piped in, for the first time that morning. Of all the boys, he'd been the last to wake up, and had pouted silently thus far at the injustice of being made to rise. Now, it seemed, he was finally awake, and ready to annoy Harry once again.

"We have flying lessons next week, can you believe it?" Draco said excitedly. "Not that I need lessons, of course," he added quickly. "Father taught me to fly when I was six - he bought me a racing broom last summer, had a flying instructor, an ex-Quidditch player, out to teach me and everything. Oh, and there was this time I flew so high, and this giant Muggle thing was right there! You wouldn't believe it, the horrible contraptions they come up with. A helilopter, I think it's called? It just barely missed me - I made like I was doing a Wronski Feint - nearly hit the ground! Mother was just beside herself, thought for sure I was dead -"

He stopped, reddening slightly upon seeing the incredulous looks on the others' faces.

"Well, it's true," he said finally, dramatically taking a bite of toast.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Just what is this 'Quidditch' thing I keep hearing everyone go on about, anyway?"

"You're joking, right?" Blaise asked disbelievingly, his almond-shaped eyes opened wide. "Everyone's heard of Quidditch."

"Unbelievable," Greg Goyle grunted, the first word Harry had ever heard him utter.

"Ever?" Draco asked, sounding awed.

"Well, I haven't," Harry said, feeling slightly annoyed. It wasn't his fault he hadn't heard of some stupid game - at least _he_ knew what a helicopter was. He nearly said just that, but Draco, naturally, began talking before he could even open his mouth.

Harry ignored Draco the best he could, barely listening as Draco went on and on about quaffles, bludgers, something called a snitch, and various other such unfamiliar terms. He would hear about it anyway, he was sure, and wouldn't have to listen to Draco's dramatic embellishments.

Harry sipped his pumpkin juice, nodding appropriately, when suddenly, his scar burned. Harry nearly dropped his juice, clutching his forehead in pain.

"Harry?" Draco asked, sounding genuinely concerned, and a little frightened.

"I'm okay," Harry managed, gritting his teeth. Looking up, he saw what was certainly the source of his pain - Professor Snape was striding towards the Slytherin table, his robes billowing like bat-wings around him. He was looking straight at Harry, greasy hair parted in curtains around his sallow face.

Harry blinked, glaring angrily back at Snape. For whatever reason, whenever Snape looked at him, his scar hurt. It was certainly no coincidence.

"Oh, good," Draco breathed, sounding relieved. "You can tell Snape what's wrong - he'll make you a potion, no problem -"

"No!" Harry said sharply, just as Snape reached their table.

Draco frowned, looking a bit put off. "Fine," he muttered, twisting his hands about in his lap.

Snape flicked his wand, and a roll of parchment appeared before every first year.

"Your schedules," said Snape, his voice soft and whispery, yet somehow commanding authority. And indeed, each and every occupant at the table was completely silent, waiting respectfully for Snape's instructions.

Snape stared at Harry again - Harry stared back, until at last Snape tore his gaze away.

"I would hope," Snape said finally, "that none at this table will be responsible for losing any House points. Just remember - I despise being made to look a fool. Slytherin, unlike other Houses -" His gaze shifted slightly in the direction of the Gryffindors. Beside Harry, Draco chuckled loudly. Snape smirked, nearly imperceptibly. "Unlike other Houses, Slytherin has standards. Let me down, and you'll pay the consequences. With that said, good luck."

It seemed to Harry that Snape made a point to _not_ look in his direction again, and with a curt nod, Snape left in a flurry of robes.

"He's brilliant, isn't he?" said Draco, sounding nearly fond. He poked Harry on the shoulder. "Ooh, take a look at our schedule: today we have Herbology before lunch - boring, and more boring. After lunch, Charms…at least we'll be learning some magic, don't you think? I've heard Flitwick is quite good, even if he is part goblin, or so I hear…"

As Draco droned on and on, Harry read the schedule for himself. In addition to the classes Draco had already mentioned, they had History of Magic, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, Potions, and a flying lesson the following week, if he chose to sign up for it. The classes were on alternating days, and Harry noticed, thankfully, that Potions class wasn't until Friday.

"Can you believe we have Double Potions with the _Gryffindors_?" Pansy asked, her snubbed nose wrinkling in disgust.

"Awful," Vince muttered into his porridge.

"And Defense?" Draco asked, chortling slightly. "Have you seen Professor Quirrell? Or better yet - heard him?"

Draco then proceeded to give a cruel - yet extremely funny - impression of Quirrell stuttering and twitching his way through a class, which had all of the first year Slytherins in stitches. Even Harry couldn't help but laugh a little. He may not have liked Draco very much, but he sure could be funny sometimes.

And certainly, things could be worse - he could be back with the Dursleys, or locked away in his cupboard without meals. Instead, Harry was going to learn how to do magic. Just like his parents.

Harry smiled to himself, looking up just in time to notice the Headmaster watching him thoughtfully.

*

Harry's first class of the day, Herbology, passed by uneventfully. Professor Sprout seemed to be a nice person, nicer than many of the teachers Harry had experienced at primary school who had often sided with Dudley and the other children. Here, people stared, but they left him alone.

The Slytherins shared the class with the Gryffindors, and Harry snuck tentative glances at Ron every so often, but to no avail. Ron ignored Harry entirely, or else turned and joked with the two boys beside him when Professor Sprout wasn't looking.

Whereas the night before Harry had felt hurt at Ron's rejection, now he simply felt angry. Harry was the same person he'd been back on the train - he hadn't changed!

Before he could change his mind, Harry rushed up to Ron after class, ignoring Draco's yell for him to stop.

"Ron!" Harry yelled angrily, barely restraining himself from grabbing at Ron's sleeve. He wasn't even sure why he was so angry - it wasn't as though he wanted to force someone to be his friend when they obviously wanted nothing to do with him - but the injustice of it made his skin prickle. Harry had done nothing, absolutely nothing to deserve being treated like he didn't exist, and he wanted Ron to see that.

Ron turned around, his face paling upon seeing Harry.

"What do _you_ want?" he asked rudely, his eyes narrowing in distrust.

Harry swallowed. This was harder than he'd thought, just a minute ago. Draco chose that moment to catch up to Harry, and he grabbed his arm possessively, glaring at Ron.

"Come on, Harry," Draco said, turning to sneer at Ron. "He's just a Weasley."

Ron's face reddened, and Harry attempted to shake Draco off his arm. "Stop it," he hissed to Draco, who frowned petulantly and let go of Harry's arm.

Harry took a deep breath. "I want to know why you're ignoring me. On the train, I thought we were…friends. I thought it wouldn't matter if we were in different Houses. I mean, I'm still the same person as before."

Ron shook his head, backing away. "You were sorted into _Slytherin_, Harry. Same as You-Know-Who…and now you're friends with people like Malfoy."

Harry nearly corrected him, because he was absolutely not friends with Draco, but how could he say that, with Draco standing right there and smiling so smugly?

Harry sighed. "Does any of that really matter?"

Ron backed up again. "Yes. I'm sorry, but it does. Just…leave me alone, okay?" And with that, Ron all but ran away.

Draco sighed, grabbing Harry's arm again. Harry severely disliked the way Draco kept grabbing at him, but didn't feel like dealing with it just then.

"It's what I've been trying to tell you," Draco said. "The rest of the school hates us."

"But why? We're just kids."

Draco shrugged, finally letting go of Harry. "Who cares? And as for Weasley, he's just poor and dirty, anyway. Did you know the entire family shares the same bed? I wonder if they all _do it_ together?" Draco laughed cruelly, and Harry concentrated on, once again, ignoring him.

*

Other than the incident with Ron, the remainder of the day went by uneventfully, and even rather enjoyably. Harry was so excited by the prospect of learning his first magic in his next class, Charms, that he could barely eat.

Paired with that excitement, of course, was a great deal of dread. Harry had yet to prove himself in any way - what if he really couldn't do magic? What if this whole thing was all a big mistake? The Dursleys had always let him know what he was - a freak, useless, stupid, etc. - what if they were right?

Harry took a sip of pumpkin juice, noticing from the corner of his eye that Millicent was staring at him.

"What?"

Millicent smiled at him. "Nervous?" she mouthed. Nobody else seemed to notice - Draco and Blaise were involved in a heated discussion about Quidditch, and Nott ignored everyone as usual.

Harry nodded cautiously. "Maybe a little. It's just…I don't _know_ how to do anything. Everyone else has been doing magic for years, I think…what if I can't do it?"

Millicent rolled her eyes. "Come on. We're first years. No one expects you to know everything. It'll be fine."

And it was. Professor Flitwick was extremely patient (and small!), and by the end of the class, Harry could easily perform the simple swish and flick along with the rest of the first years. However, it wasn't enough. Harry remembered the way everyone had stared at him, as though he were some freak show. They were just waiting for him to fail, and he was going to show them all otherwise.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" Harry intonated with all his might, grinning with delight as his feather soared above his desk, higher than Draco had managed to levitate his. Draco scowled slightly, then quickly hid it.

"Excellent work, Harry!" Flitwick squeaked. "Ten points to Slytherin!"

After that, Harry couldn't stop grinning.

*

Throughout the rest of the week, Harry learned everything possible about Hogwarts. He learned about Peeves, the poltergeist, who was extremely loud and annoying, along with the House ghosts - he learned to avoid Filch, the creepy caretaker and his cat, Mrs. Norris, and he learned that the staircases were always changing. The latter caused Harry to nearly be late to class a couple of times, much to his annoyance.

Harry learned never to accept candy from the Weasley twins, who, unlike their brother, seemed to have no qualms about talking to him. However, their company came with a price, and that particular price caused Harry's head to balloon up and turn purple for an entire evening, until an exasperated Draco dragged him to the hospital wing. But it had all been in good fun, really.

The night before their first Potions class, Harry had the strangest dream. In the dream, he was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which talked to him. It told him that they were just alike, that Harry was fulfilling his destiny by being in Slytherin. Harry tried to take the turban off, but it wouldn't budge - Snape appeared next, fixing him with that same cold glare, and finally, raising his wand. There was a burst of green light -

Harry woke up, sweating and gasping. His scar hurt, and when he brushed his fingers against it, they came back stained with blood. Harry stared at the blood incredulously - what was wrong with him?

His curtains parted, and Draco poked his head in, appearing as nothing but a pale blur as Harry wasn't wearing his glasses.

"Harry?" he whispered quietly. "Are you okay?"

For the first time, Harry felt a small stab of regret for the way he'd treated Draco. Granted, Draco was obnoxious, arrogant, and probably only wanted to be his friend because he was famous, but…at least he wanted to be his friend. Considering how most of the school regarded Harry with caution and even fear, having at least one person on his side probably wasn't a bad thing.

"I'm fine," Harry said, fumbling for his glasses. He perched them on his nose, then smiled reassuringly at Draco. "Really. Go back to sleep."

Draco narrowed his eyes skeptically. "There's blood on your hands, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "I think I scratched myself in my sleep. Nothing to worry about."

Draco still eyed him disbelievingly, but nodded after a moment. "Okay. Well, good night, then."

"Good night."

Harry waited until his curtain had closed, then flopped onto his back, his mind racing. What had the dream meant? Surely, it had been more than just an average dream, as most people didn't wake up from an average dream with a bleeding scar. But then again, most people didn't _have_ a scar like Harry's…and what about Snape? Did the dream mean that he wanted to kill Harry? He certainly didn't seem to like him much, and had yet to so much as speak to him.

Troubled, Harry sighed and closed his eyes, desperate to sleep for the little time he had left before morning.

_Author's Note: Reviews are greatly appreciated! _


	3. Potions

_Author's Note: Thanks again for all the reviews! And for the reviewer who pointed out the canon mistake I'd made - thank you! I actually thought I'd changed that, silly me. But anyway, on to chapter three!_

_Oh, one more thing: much of Snape's Potions speech is verbatim from the original (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone by J.K. Rowling). It was just too genius to change - and I imagine that Snape probably gives it every year. _

Chapter Three - Potions

Severus Snape was not having a good day. This year's crop of future members of Wizarding society was as unpromising as ever - not that he'd been overly optimistic. It amazed him, truly amazed him, how unintelligent the majority of people were. Dumbledore, of course, would look at him with that infuriating twinkle in his eye, and say, "they're only children, Severus." Well, in Severus's opinion, stupid adults didn't just appear out of nowhere - they sprang forth from stupid, lazy children. Now, Severus was the first to admit that he'd made many mistakes in his life, but if he had anything good left to offer, it was in curing stupidity at a young age.

Now, the thing that truly irked him about this particular year was the Potter brat. Granted, he hadn't so much as talked to the boy yet, but just from looking at him, it was clear he was James Potter, incarnate. Potter had stared at him, _glared_ at him, even, with the same impudent, defiant look that his father had perfected.

His eyes…yes, that had been startling, seeing Lily's eyes glare at him with such hatred. But this was all the more reason that Potter obviously had nothing of Lily in him, other than a genetic happenstance.

Perhaps all the more startling was Potter's Sorting into Slytherin…how could James Potter's progeny be anything other than the epitome of all things Gryffindor? But then, much like his dearly departed father, perhaps it was simply in Potter's nature to be contrary, even unwittingly so.

So Severus watched Potter throughout the week, for his own reasons as well as for Dumbledore's. He noticed that the boy basically kept to himself, except for a few conversations with his fellow first years, and with Draco Malfoy, who seemed to have glued himself to Potter's side. Severus sneered slightly at that - so like his father, Draco was, to attach himself to the first promise of power in sight. Severus had hoped for better from him…perhaps he would find a moment to speak privately with Draco about the dangers of chasing after power.

Severus knew about that, all too well.

Potter chose that moment to look up, and he raised his eyebrows challengingly as he met Severus's look, glare for glare.

"Impudent brat," Severus muttered to himself, finally turning back to his breakfast. Dumbledore, seated nearby, looked at him curiously.

"Trouble, Severus?" Dumbledore asked.

Severus bristled. He hated Dumbledore sometimes, every bit as much as he respected him. He hated that Dumbledore had seen him at his worst, that Dumbledore knew all of his secrets…and could forever hold them over his head.

Dumbledore held power over him - more even than his last master, and for that, Severus hated him.

"Potter," Severus said finally. "He's just like his father."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Really, Severus, I was under the impression that you've yet to even speak to the boy? And as he's in your House, it seems all the more unlikely that he's James Potter, reborn."

Severus scowled. "He isn't Lily, either," he said quietly.

"No, I imagine he isn't," Dumbledore replied calmly. "My suspicion would be that young Harry is his own person - for better or worse." He fixed Severus with a meaningful look from over his spectacles. "And don't forget what we've discussed, Severus."

How could he? Severus nodded, a sour taste in the back of his mouth.

And the worst part of the day was yet to come: he taught Double Potions that day with the Gryffindors and Slytherins…and Potter.

*

Harry was grateful that he was already used to the damp cold of the dungeons, otherwise, it might have come as quite the shock to wait outside of Snape's classroom. Many of the Gryffindors were muttering and complaining about the cold - two especially giggly girls were occasionally shrieking out of terror as they whispered to each other. Harry recognized the bushy-haired girl from the train - she was standing away from the others, her books clutched firmly to her chest. Harry gave her a small wave, wondering if she'd remember him. She started slightly, looking surprised, then gave a tentative wave in return.

Draco opened his mouth, surely to make some disparaging remark about the girl, but at that moment Snape swooped down the corridor in a flurry of robes. His expression remained stony as the students filed past him into the classroom, and the door slammed shut ominously.

The room was dark and rather creepy - pickled animals in jars floated eerily around the walls - but it was Snape's presence that truly made the room feel threatening. Much as when he'd commanded the first years' attention simply by standing there, Snape had merely to stand at the front of the room, his black eyes glaring menacingly.

Snape began the class by taking roll call, pausing dramatically at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes. Our new…celebrity." Snape smirked. "And in my House…you can't imagine what an…honor that is."

Harry clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to say anything. He didn't understand why Snape seemed to hate him so much, but if his dreams were any indication, he definitely needed to keep an eye out for him.

Finally, after he'd called the entire roll, Snape looked up at the class.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began, speaking in his whispery, barely discernable voice. However, not a single student dared to interrupt.

"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you to really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

At that, he looked right at Harry, smirking ever so slightly. Harry felt his blood race - what was Snape's problem?

"Potter!" Snape said suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

In Harry's peripheral vision, he saw the bushy-haired girl raise her hand so violently that she stood up from her seat. Harry's mind raced - he, along with Draco, Blaise, and Millicent, had spent the previous evening studying for Potions, as Draco had warned them that Snape often liked to quiz the students on the first day. And, he'd added, it looked good for Snape's own House to be prepared.

Harry swallowed dryly, hoping he was correct. "The Draught of the Living Death, sir?"

Snape's lips twitched slightly. "And a bezoar, Potter? Where would you look for one?"

Again, the girl's hand flew up. "Sit down, Miss Granger!" Snape snapped at her. "Well, Potter?"

"A goat, sir. You'd look in the stomach of a goat."

Snape looked almost…disappointed, which was strange, considering Harry had answered his questions correctly.

"Five points to Slytherin," he mumbled reluctantly, turning in a flurry of robes towards Ron, who had been whispering something to another boy.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley. As you're so eager to share, perhaps you'd like to tell us all the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Ron's face reddened noticeably. "I don't know, sir," he mumbled.

Snape looked gleeful at this. "Twenty points from Gryffindor," he said cheerfully, walking towards the board. There was a chorus of groans from the Gryffindors, which immediately silenced when Snape whirled back around.

"Ten more points, I think," Snape said quietly. He waved his wand, the ingredients for a potion appearing on the board. "Well, why is everyone just sitting there? Get to work!"

Snape continued to terrorize the Gryffindors for the remainder of the class - when Neville, the round-faced boy who'd lost his toad on the train melted his cauldron, he took another five points from Gryffindor. When the bushy-haired girl, Hermione, made the perfect potion, Snape made no comment on it, instead nodding brusquely before vanishing it with his wand. Hermione looked close to tears after he'd left - Harry desperately wanted to say something to her, for Snape had made no comment about his and Draco's potion, either. Draco, especially, had appeared disappointed, as he'd obviously been expecting some praise. And he probably would have received some, Harry thought wryly, if not for his Potions partner…

Snape definitely hated him, Harry decided. The only question was, why?

*

That night at dinner, Harry received his first message delivered by Hedwig. Pansy _oohed _and _aahed _over the snowy owl, begging Harry to let her pet Hedwig. Harry shrugged, taking the message from Hedwig's talons and feeding her some of his food.

He stroked Hedwig's head - she closed her eyes happily. "What do you think, Hedwig? Want to go visit Pansy while I read my message?" Hedwig looked slightly put off - for an owl - but hopped over to Pansy nonetheless.

Harry opened the message. It was hard to read at first, as there appeared to be tear stains covering it. However, he was quickly able to make it out:

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm sorry to not have talked to you this week, it was wrong of me. When you were sorted into Slytherin, I didn't know what to think. And I'd said such things to you already about Slytherins, you must think I hate you. But I know you're not a bad sort, Harry. I knew you when you were just a little baby, after all. And if your parents were here, they would be ashamed that I'd treated their son like that. Please forgive me, and you and a friend can come and have tea with me and Fang tomorrow. My cooking isn't very good, but I'd like to hear what your week has been like._

_Your friend,_

_Rubeus Hagrid_

Harry grinned, quickly scribbling out a reply and giving it to Hedwig with instructions to deliver it back to Hagrid. The owl hooted in response, then hopped off Harry's shoulder and into the air.

"Hey." Draco nudged him, his gray eyes narrowed slightly. "Who was that post from?"

Harry shrugged. It really was none of Draco's business. "Nobody," he replied, digging into his treacle tart.

Draco pouted for the remainder of the meal, then left early without saying a word. Harry watched him leave, feeling slightly perplexed - it wasn't like Draco to simply back down like that.

Making a mental note to talk to Draco later, Harry excused himself from the table and headed for the library. Hagrid's suggestion to bring a friend had brought one person to mind, and he was pretty sure of where to find her…

He wasn't wrong. Ducking past Madame Pince's disapproving frown, Harry strode over to the table in the far corner of the library, and to the table's lone occupant. Hermione's head was bowed, as if her intention was to lose herself completely in the book she was reading. Books were scattered around her in stacks, and scrolls of parchment were stacked neatly to her right. She started slightly as Harry approached, as if surprised that anyone would invade her little study corner.

"Hey," Harry said, at a loss of anything better to say. "Can I sit here?"

Hermione nodded, her face brightening noticeably. "Of course! I was just doing some light reading before bed - have you read Hogwarts, A History yet? This is actually my second time reading it, but it's just as fascinating the second time around." She smiled, revealing her unfortunately protruding front teeth.

Harry shook his head, feeling slightly nervous for some reason. He'd never had any friends back in primary school, and never had a cause to invite someone to do anything - not that Aunt Petunia would have allowed him to bring anybody over, anyway.

"Not yet. I was just wondering if you wanted to go visit Hagrid with me tomorrow? He's invited me over for tea, and he said I could bring a friend along. So…do you want to come?"

Harry's mouth felt dry. He hadn't talked to Hermione since the train, after all, and had no idea if his Sorting into Slytherin would affect her opinion of him, as it had for Ron.

Hermione cocked her head quizzically. "Really? You'd want to invite me?" She sounded so incredulous, bringing to Harry's mind the way she'd stood alone from the rest of the Gryffindors, even the other girls. And Ron, who'd spoken to her on the train as well, had snickered with his friends when Snape had told her to sit down in Potions class.

Harry nodded. "Er, yeah. If you want to, that is."

Hermione closed her book with a dramatic sigh. "Well, I suppose I could take some time off from studying tomorrow, as it is Saturday." She smiled at him again. "How's Slytherin?"

"It's…good. How's Gryffindor?"

Hermione sighed again, pushing back her unruly hair. "Well, it's not quite what I expected. The other girls in my dorm are simply _awful_ - they don't want to talk about anything except boys and clothes! I just really have nothing in common with them at all. And the boys just avoid me - or they laugh at me," she said matter-of-factly, barely disguising the hurt in her voice. "But it's okay - nobody talked to me at Muggle school, either. I figure one day, when I'm Minister for Magic like I plan to be, I'll be glad for the extra studying time I had back in school."

Harry blinked. "Well, who needs them, anyway?"

"Yes," Hermione answered approvingly. "Exactly right."

Harry was in good spirits as he made his way back to the Slytherin dormitories. Not only had he been invited to visit Hagrid, but he also clearly had a friend in Hermione. Harry had known that being Sorted into Slytherin didn't make him evil, but it was certainly nice to know that others thought so, too.

Harry was so engrossed in his thoughts, that he barely noticed when the staircase shifted and moved, placing him in an unfamiliar part of the castle. Harry cursed under his breath - curfew was but minutes away, and if he was caught out of bed, he was sure to receive detention.

It was then that Harry realized where he was - on the third floor corridor! The Headmaster had explicitly stated that students were forbidden to enter - but Harry couldn't help if the staircase had led him there, could he? It was almost as if he was meant to discover whatever there was to discover.

Harry drew in a deep breath, then crept quietly towards the room at the end of the corridor. Surely, it wouldn't hurt to peek, would it?

Harry's fingers had barely touched the door handle when a shout of, "Potter!" caused him to jerk away as though burned. Harry whirled around - and cursed again.

Snape - and it _would_ have to be Snape - appeared livid.

"Potter," he spat, gripping Harry's arm roughly. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

Harry glared at Snape. His scar gave a small twinge of pain, and he pulled out of Snape's grip. "Nothing."

Snape gave him a disgusted look. "Nothing, _sir_. Or did those Muggles who raised you not teach you about respect?" His lip curled. "No, I imagine they wouldn't have," he muttered.

Then, as though remembering himself, Snape drew up to his full height. "So, Potter. The term has barely started, and already you've decided to start living up to your dear father's legacy." He smirked cruelly. "Such as it is."

"No!" Harry said, his head pounding with blood. "I was just trying to go back to the dormitories, and the staircase changed!"

"Ah, yes. And I suppose that's why you decided to test that door, perhaps to see if your dormitory was inside?'

"Well, what are _you_ doing here?" Harry demanded angrily. "It's pretty weird that you're walking around up here when it's forbidden - don't you think, _sir_?"

Snape's nostrils flared, and he looked for a moment as if he would reach down and choke Harry. "I happen to be a professor, Potter," he said coolly. "And as a professor, I will not tolerate such blatant disrespect. Not even from the great Harry Potter himself." He gave Harry a look of pure and utter hatred. "How you managed to hoodwink the Sorting Hat is beyond me, Potter. And the Headmaster might have his opinions, but I know the truth - you're nothing but an arrogant, spoiled brat. Just like your father."

Harry was so angry he could hardly breathe. "You have no right to talk about my father!"

At that, Snape smiled coldly, his black eyes glittering malevolently. "Oh, yes, Potter. I actually do. You see, I, unlike you, had the _pleasure _of knowing your loving father." He sneered. "But enough of this. Detention, Potter. Monday night after dinner."

Harry inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. At least he still could visit Hagrid.

"Oops," Snape said, glancing at his wand. "I'm afraid it's past curfew. Hmm, we'll have to make that two detentions, shan't we? Monday _and _Tuesday night."

Harry's mouth fell open. "But you kept me here!" he protested, no longer caring that he was digging himself further and further into trouble.

Snape smiled. "Best make that _three _nights, then. I do have a great many cauldrons to scrub. Run along now, Potter. And do try not to be caught."

*

Severus watched the Potter boy scramble away in defeat, and smirked in satisfaction. Who did he think he was, talking to Severus that way? It seemed the cruelest thing to see _those _eyes, set in his enemy's face…

Severus frowned. Potter had come much too close to discovering the secret occupant of the third floor. Had Severus not chanced upon him just then, the idiot could very well have been killed.

He sighed, rubbing the space between his eyes. Potter had given him a headache.

_Author's Note: Please review!_


	4. Tea With Hagrid

_Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! But to everyone else, please show the love. I hate to beg for reviews, but if you enjoy the chapter in any way, it really makes my day to hear about it! I want to continue posting the chapters as quickly as I have been, and hearing from people who enjoy reading the story gives me all the more incentive to post quickly. _

_This chapter is dedicated to the memory of a good friend. _

Chapter Four - Tea With Hagrid

In spite of his run in with Snape the previous night - and his impending detentions - Harry woke up tingly with excitement. Not only was it Saturday, but he was going to visit Hagrid, who definitely didn't hate him for being in Slytherin.

Doubly exciting was the fact that Snape was clearly hiding something - why else would he be lurking about in a forbidden corridor when all the students were in bed? And if Harry's dreams and the burning in his scar were anything to go by, Harry definitely needed to keep an eye out for him.

After showering and brushing his teeth, Harry quickly dressed and made his way downstairs for breakfast. The Slytherin table was mostly empty, as it was still rather early, but he noticed Draco sitting there and took a seat across from him. He hadn't had a chance to talk to Draco the previous night, so maybe now would be a good time.

"Hey," Harry said, pouring himself some cereal. "You're up early."

Draco shrugged, listlessly moving the eggs about on his plate.

"Couldn't sleep." At this, he stared at Harry accusingly, as though it were _Harry's _fault he couldn't sleep.

Harry frowned. "I'm sorry?"

Draco scowled, then dropped his fork. He took a deep breath. "Why didn't you invite _me_ to go for tea at the half-giant's? I'm supposed to be your friend, and you didn't even ask me! Instead you asked that Mudblood know-it-all, Granger…and she's not even in our House!" Draco was practically panting, his face flushed.

Harry didn't know what to say. Finally, he asked, "how'd you know I asked Hermione?"

"Because I was in the library, and I heard you!"

Harry decided not to comment on the fact that Draco had apparently been eavesdropping on his conversation with Hermione. "Draco, why would I have asked you to visit Hagrid with me? You don't even call him by his name, you just call him 'the half-giant', and the first thing I ever heard you say about him was that he should get sacked!"

"Well," Draco said, looking slightly unsure of himself for the first time. "That doesn't mean I wouldn't want to go with you." Draco stared at him imploringly. "I'm supposed to be your friend," he repeated.

Harry nearly snapped back that he'd _never_ claimed to be Draco's friend, but stopped himself just in time. It was true that he found Draco annoying for the most part, and sometimes he bragged worse than Dudley, but Harry didn't want to hurt him. He was still mystified as to why Draco wanted to be his friend, aside from the obvious reason of Harry's fame, but at least he wasn't in danger of turning against him like Ron had.

"You would have invited Weasley," Draco muttered petulantly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but I didn't." He sighed. "Draco, do you want to come to tea?"

Draco's face brightened, then was carefully smoothed back into composure. "I suppose I could fit it into my schedule," he drawled, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

"Do you promise you won't say anything rude to Hermione or Hagrid?" If he did, Harry thought to himself, he would never invite Draco anywhere again. And he would _not_ be his friend.

Draco scowled almost imperceptibly, then nodded. "Of course. I'm a _Malfoy_, Harry," he said in an exasperated tone.

At half-two, Harry and Draco met Hermione in front of the statue of the humpbacked witch. Hermione looked slightly surprised, as though she'd been afraid that the whole thing had been a trick.

"Hello, Harry," she said brightly. She turned to Draco, regarding him curiously. "Are you coming to tea as well?"

"Obviously," Draco muttered. Harry gave him a look, and Draco flinched.

"Oh," Hermione said, looking between the two of them. "Well, I suppose we'd better get going. You said three, didn't you, Harry? It'd be bad manners if we were late."

Draco, amazingly, kept his mouth shut for the entire walk over to Hagrid's shack. Hermione, however, chattered on the entire time, barely allowing Harry a word in.

"…and did you know that the house-elves can Apparate at Hogwarts, even though there are anti-Disapparition wards? You know, it's possible that their magic is more powerful than ours! Why, then, do we treat them like servants? It doesn't make any sense, does it?"

Harry was relieved to arrive at Hagrid's hut, and quickly reached up a hand to knock on the front door.

"Look at this place," Draco muttered, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "How could anyone live here?"

Harry shot him a warning look. "You didn't have to come," he snapped. Draco shut his mouth and glared at the ground.

Hagrid opened the door. "Come in, come in," he said happily, moving out of the way to allow them inside. It appeared that the entire cabin was contained in one room - a very large bed dominated a far corner, and there was a small kitchen area with a sturdy looking table. A fire crackled on the opposite side of the room, and a large dog lifted its head and regarded them curiously.

"Behave yerself, Fang," Hagrid said warningly to the dog. Fang sighed and lowered his head to his paws, his tail wagging.

Hagrid ushered them over to the table, where he had a tea pot and cups already laid out. Harry took a seat at the table, his feet dangling well above the floor.

"Nice of yeh ter come by, Harry," Hagrid said in his rumbling voice. "Wasn' expecting but one friend ter come with yeh, but tha's okay." He frowned slightly, but busied himself with slicing pieces of treacle fudge onto serving plates.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Had he done something wrong by inviting an extra person?

Remembering himself, he gestured towards both Hermione and Draco. "Hagrid, this is Hermione Granger - she's in Gryffindor - and Draco Malfoy, from my House."

"Hello," Draco said. "You might know of my father, Lucius Malfoy. He's on the Board of Governors for Hogwarts."

Hagrid grunted. "I know yer father," he mumbled, not looking at Draco. He set three plates in front of Harry, Draco, and Hermione, then sat back in his own chair.

"Gryffindor, eh?" he asked Hermione, who had a somewhat bemused expression on her face. "Tha' was my old House. And Harry here - both his parents were Gryffindor. Great folks, they were," he said, smiling sadly.

Harry swallowed his tea, a slight lump forming in his throat. He wanted to hear more about his parents from someone who'd known them, but didn't know how to ask.

"Yer classes going well, then?" Hagrid asked Harry.

Harry nodded. "Snape seems to hate me, though."

Hagrid frowned in confusion. "Snape? Why would he hate yeh? He's a little hard to git used teh, I'll give 'im that. But hate yeh?"

Quickly, and ever aware that Draco and Hermione were listening to everything, Harry told Hagrid what had happened the night before.

"Don't you think it's kind of weird that he was lurking around on the forbidden corridor?" Harry asked.

Hagrid snorted. "Now, Harry, Snape is a Hogwarts professor, and Dumbledore trusts him. I reckon he had a good reason fer being up there, and tha's all I'll say."

Harry nearly opened his mouth and told Hagrid about the dreams and his scar burning, but decided he'd already said too much in front of Draco and Hermione. He also wondered if he'd made a mistake by bringing Draco along - although he was behaving himself, it was clear that Hagrid was uncomfortable having him there. Why, Harry had no clue.

The room was awkwardly silent for awhile, interspersed with the occasional sound of sipping or chewing. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he must have done something wrong, but for the life of him couldn't figure out what it was. Adult or not, Hagrid had been his first friend, and had saved him from the Dursleys. If Hagrid decided to follow Ron's example and reject him, Harry didn't know what he would do.

"So, what does the gamekeeper do, exactly?" Hermione asked Hagrid politely.

Hagrid looked slightly surprised. "Ah, this and tha'. Looking out fer the animals...whatever they want me ter do."

"That's interesting," Hermione said. "I just find everything fascinating right now - I'm Muggle-born, you see. My parents are dentists."

Draco coughed something into his hands - Harry nudged him in the ribs.

"Ow!" Draco whined.

Hagrid grunted something under his breath. "Nothing wrong abou' being Muggle-born," he finally said. "Harry, yer own mother was Muggle-born...never met a better, brighter witch than Lily. I'll have words with anyone teh say otherwise," he said, frowning at Draco.

Draco frowned down at the tabletop, his heels drumming against the chair legs. "Well, _my father says_-"

"Don't care ter hear what yer father says, Malfoy," Hagrid muttered darkly. "Murdering Death Eater tha' he was."

Draco stilled, gaping at Hagrid. "My father didn't murder _anyone_," he said vehemently, and somewhat shakily. "He was under the Imperius curse, you filthy, lying half-breed."

"Draco!" Harry said sharply, but his heart was barely in it. Hagrid had just insulted Draco's father, after all - it was understandable that he would be upset. Draco stared at Harry, something like hurt flashing across his face. He pushed out of his chair and ran, the door slamming behind him as he left.

Harry cringed, hardly daring to look at Hagrid. Although he didn't fully understand everything that had just transpired, he sensed that it was somehow all his fault.

"I'm sorry, Hagrid."

Hagrid waved a hand, chuckling uncomfortably. "Ah, it's no' yer faul', Harry. Can' change how some folk think." He glanced down at his wrist. "I reckon you two'd bes' be getting back, now."

"Would you like us to help you clean up?" Hermione asked, biting her lip nervously.

"Course not," Hagrid said. "Good of yeh ter offer, though. Real kind of yeh."

He walked them both to the door. Hagrid clapped Harry on the shoulder, nearly causing him to lose his balance. Harry smiled at him tentatively.

"I really am sorry - about Draco. He's actually not so bad, when you get to know him."

Hagrid frowned slightly, sighing. "Yer a good person, Harry. Jus' remember that not everyone is as good as yeh." He clapped both Harry and Hermione on the shoulders. "Yeh'll stop by again, won' yeh?"

"Yeah," Harry said, at the same time that Hermione said, "of course."

Hagrid chuckled, scratching absently at his beard. "Well, good nigh' then."

Harry didn't know what to say to Hermione as they walked back to the castle. Finally, he said, "sorry about that."

Hermione looked at him curiously. "What about? I had a good time." She raised her eyebrows. "Can't say the same for Draco, though."

Harry sighed. "I knew inviting him was a bad idea."

"Well, Hagrid did sort of provoke him, I thought. But, Harry…you did know that, didn't you? About Draco's father?"

Harry shook his head. He remembered Hagrid telling him about the witches and wizards who'd evaded Azkaban based on their claims of being cursed, but he didn't remember any names.

"Well, Lucius Malfoy _did _follow You-Know-Who, but claimed he'd been under the Imperius Curse. I read it in _Hogwarts, A History._" She bit her lip, glancing at him nervously. "And…well, people like the Malfoys don't exactly take kindly to people like me. You know…Muggle-borns." Looking supremely unhappy, she said, "but it doesn't mean I don't think you should be his friend! I wouldn't tell you who to be friends with - you're friends with me, after all."

Harry gave her a tight smile. "At least you _want_ to be my friend, still. After I got Sorted into Slytherin…well, it seems like everyone's scared of me now or something. Except for the other Slytherins, of course." He shook his head, absently kicking at a pebble. "I mean, not _everyone_ in Slytherin can be bad, right?"

"Of course not," she said emphatically. "Why, that's just a silly thing to believe." She pursed her lips, shaking her head. "Just wait, I'll do some research in the library tomorrow - show everyone how much _good_ has come out of Slytherin." She smiled at that, obviously cheered at the prospect of a day spent at the library.

Harry walked Hermione back to her common room, with the promise of meeting her at the library the following day. There were still a couple of hours left until dinner, so Harry headed to his own common room in the hopes of finding Draco.

Draco wasn't there, but Blaise, Vince, and Greg were playing a game of Exploding Snap.

"Want to play?" Blaise asked hopefully as Harry approached. "I could use a worthwhile opponent." He laughed at Vince's and Greg's expressions. "I'm just kidding, you two." He then mouthed _not_ to Harry, who snorted.

"Maybe later. Er, I was looking for Draco, actually."

Blaise shrugged. "I wouldn't bother him if I were you. He ran upstairs like his arse was on fire - nearly bit poor Vince's head off for talking to him."

Harry winced. This was all his fault. Nodding, he said, "thanks, Blaise. I've got to talk to him, though."

Blaise shrugged again. "Your funeral."

The first year boys' dormitory appeared to be empty, but Harry could see that the curtain had been pulled around Draco's bed. Harry approached it hesitantly.

"Draco?" There was no answer, but Harry could have sworn he heard a sharp intake of breath. He tried again. "Draco, I know you're here."

The curtains were ripped open, revealing a furious looking Draco. "What do _you_ want?"

Harry shifted from foot to foot. He had basically no experience with this sort of thing, unless one counted the time Dudley's friends had taken turns flushing his head down the toilet because he'd talked back to them. He supposed not.

"Look, I'm sorry that things didn't go well. I had no idea that Hagrid felt that way about your father."

Draco's lips trembled. "He's a bloody liar. Stupid, ugly, smelly, half-breed…"

"Well, you shouldn't have said those things to him, either," Harry cut in, a stab of annoyance slicing through him.

"Yeah, take his side, just like you did back there!" Draco tugged the curtains shut again.

Harry wrestled them back open. "I didn't take his side! If you'd listen a second you'd see that I was just trying to keep the peace between you two!"

Draco's eyes watered, and he ducked his head, wiping furtively at them. "He's a liar," he repeated. "My father never murdered anyone - he told me he was under the Imperius curse. My father wouldn't lie to me, Harry." His voice was full of conviction, with absolute trust in his father.

Harry sighed. "I believe you," he said, silently adding, _that you believe him_.

Draco smiled, then gripped Harry's arm. "I knew you wouldn't take that idiot oaf's side."

Harry tugged out of Draco's grip, as usual a bit taken aback by Draco's possessive attitude towards him. It would take some getting used to. But then, that was just Draco.

Draco reached for something under his bed, pulling out an expensive looking box of chocolates. Harry's mouth watered just looking at them - he _never_ got to have treats like that at the Dursleys.

As if seeing that, Draco smiled in satisfaction. He patted beside him on the bed, and shrugging, Harry took a seat. "Mother sent me these chocolates the other day - she misses me so," he said with a roll of his eyes. "We should eat them all before Greg or Vince find them."

Relieved that neither Draco nor Hagrid seemed overly upset with him, Harry grinned and reached for a chocolate.

_Reviews are loved and adored! _


	5. Detention and Talking Turbans

_Author's Note: Hello everybody! Sorry it took awhile to get this chapter up…the next couple are written, though. So, hopefully they'll be up in a timely manner __J This chapter has some more Snape POV, which is always fun to write, haha. Hope everyone enjoys!_

Chapter Five - Detention and Talking Turbans

Severus smirked in satisfaction when Potter arrived for his detention Monday night. The brat glared at him, but said nothing.

"So, Potter," said Severus. "I must say you've set a new record. I don't know that I've ever assigned detention three nights in a row, this early in the school year. I suppose, much like your father, that you've yet to settle for mediocrity."

Potter's face twitched, and he clenched his hand at his side. "Just tell me what I need to do for my detention. _Sir_."

Severus walked over to a table, placing a bucket atop it. He reached into the bucket, pulling out a dead salamander by its tail and laying it on the table.

"I've been needing salamander hearts and eyes for quite some time. It's quite a tedious process, you see, because magic would harm the properties needed for the potions." Using a scalpel, he quickly demonstrated how to remove the heart without harming it, and then how to remove the eyes. He fully expected Potter to fail at even these simple instructions, or else to become squeamish and sick up. In either case, Severus expected to have fun with it.

Potter nodded, then laid out a salamander and immediately sliced it open.

"Watch it," Severus snapped. "Ruin my potions ingredients, Potter, and that will be an extra night of detention."

Potter drew in his breath. "It makes it harder to concentrate with you hovering over me like that. Sir."

"Hmm, maybe an extra night of detention _would_ be advantageous…I do have so much to get done."

This time, Potter barely reacted. His shoulders stiffened and his grip on the scalpel tightened, but he said nothing. Instead he deftly removed the heart and eyes from the salamander, then reached into the bucket for another. Finding, for once, nothing to criticize, Severus sat back at his desk and began grading essays. He gritted his teeth - he had a stack of third year Hufflepuff essays to grade, and was not looking forward to meandering through various studies in awkward sentence structure.

He had just finished marking his third 'T' in a row, when a sharp gasp from Potter made him look up. Severus cursed under his breath - the idiot had cut himself, and was now staring in disbelief as blood poured freely from his wound.

Potter's eyes widened in panic as Severus swiftly approached him, and for a moment he was taken aback. Devoid of hatred, the resemblance to Lily would have been startling - had it not been for the panicked, terrified expression the boy was wearing.

"S-Sorry!" Potter stammered. "It slipped - I didn't mean to. I'll clean it up." He eyed Severus warily, but with the sort of resignation that a trapped animal must feel as its captor approaches.

"Give me your hand," Severus commanded, at a loss of what else to say. Reluctantly, Potter held out his hand, and Severus gripped it tightly at the wrist to steady it. The gash ran deeply between his left thumb and index finger, and Severus quickly murmured a spell to stop the bleeding, followed by a healing spell. He then vanished the blood, both on Potter's hand and on the floor, then closely scrutinized the hand for signs of further damage.

"Do you have any pain?" he asked sharply, and Potter shook his head. Severus released his wrist, and Potter stared at him as if fearing a reprimand.

"Here, let me show you a better way to hold the scalpel," Severus said, plucking another salamander out of the bucket. Perhaps he had been remiss in his instructions to Potter - it was easy to forget, whilst staring at his enemy's face, that he was an eleven year old child. And that Severus had sworn long ago to protect him.

Watching Potter slicing into the salamanders - more carefully, this time - he was struck by several thoughts, none of them pleasant. He wondered if perhaps he had been overly hasty in his judgment of Potter. True, the boy looked like a miniature James Potter, and held the innate hatred of Severus that his father held. But he also had been Sorted into Slytherin, an unlikely event which probably had his dear father somersaulting in his grave.

Strangest, and most troubling, had been Potter's behavior upon cutting himself. Whereas most children would have immediately looked to the nearest adult for comfort and reassurance, Potter had appeared shell-shocked, then acted as though he'd expected to be punished. For a very brief moment, it had brought back memories of Severus's own childhood - such as it was.

But the point was, it hadn't been a behavior indicative of a pampered, spoiled brat, like James Potter had been. It had just been a moment, but it had been enough for Severus to consider reevaluating his views on Potter. He was nothing if not adaptive, after all. And if there was even the slightest chance that Potter _wasn't_ James Potter the second…and if Dumbledore's suspicions about the Dark Lord's return, and Potter, were correct…

Severus snuck a peak at Potter. He'd sworn to protect Lily's son, but he'd never considered that he might actually be able to make a difference in the boy's training, or that he might care for him in any way. He didn't _want_ to care for him. Severus had cared for one person in his entire life, and it had nearly killed him to lose her.

But, Severus thought, looking at Potter - at his eyes. Lily's eyes. If there was a chance, even the slightest chance that this boy was more like Lily than like James, then…

Then he had to try.

*

Harry had never been happier to leave a room than when he left Snape's detention. Snape had acted so strangely after Harry had cut his finger, alternating between frowning down at his desk and staring at Harry. He'd fully expected to be punished for cutting his finger - Aunt Petunia would have shrieked that he was dripping blood all over her carpets - but Snape had been surprisingly helpful, in his way.

But then, if Snape really hated him, as Harry suspected, perhaps he now planned to catch Harry off guard - to lull him into complacence before striking. It certainly made good sense to Harry.

Harry was so engrossed in his thoughts, once again, that he barely missed slamming against Professor Quirrell, who was practically running down the corridor.

"Sorry!" Harry said quickly. The last thing he needed was yet another detention.

The turbaned man smiled awkwardly. "Quite alright, P-P-P-Potter," he managed to stutter. He had shifty eyes, Harry noticed, and appeared to be in a hurry for some reason.

Remembering his strange dream in which Quirrell had played a part, Harry stared hard at the turban for a moment, and then followed alongside the professor.

Quirrell stopped, shifting nervously from foot to foot. "T-t-t-time for bed now, don't you think, P-P-Potter?"

Harry's scar gave an unmistakable twinge, and he gritted his teeth. He smiled at Quirrell. "Curfew's not for another hour, Professor," he said politely. "I was just heading to the library to study with a friend."

"G-g-g-g-good for you, P-Potter. Keep up the g-g-g-good work." He smiled again at Harry, then glanced down at his wand as though remembering something. "S-s-sorry, Potter, if you'll excuse me…" he then walked away hurriedly, in the opposite direction of Harry.

Making a split second decision, Harry followed him, staying a good distance behind and keeping close to the walls and the shadows. Quirrell walked on, oblivious to the eleven year old boy trailing at his heels.

Finally, Quirrell reached the staircase and stopped, looking furtively around. It took Harry a moment to realize it, but Quirrell was definitely talking to himself. In fact…it almost looked as though he was arguing with himself. Harry watched in confusion as Quirrell ascended the staircase, and after a moment of indecision, Harry followed him.

It soon became clear where Quirrell was headed - the third floor corridor! Were he and Snape in on it together, then? Harry took another step forward - and tripped on a loose shoelace.

Harry bit his lip to keep silent, but the sound of his fall must have alerted Quirrell somehow. He stopped, looking around anxiously. Harry pressed himself tightly against the wall, heart pounding in his ears.

"What is it?" a cold, high voice demanded. Much to Harry's shock, the voice seemed to be coming from Quirrell's turban.

Quirrell twitched. "I don't know," he muttered. "But maybe now isn't a good t-t-t-time?" he asked hopefully.

"It's probably just that poltergeist," the voice said sharply. "Don't think you'll get out of it this easily."

Quirrell visibly shuddered, but nodded. Then, without another word, he went into the room at the end of the corridor.

Head spinning in confusion, Harry jumped quickly to his feet, taking care to lace up his trainers, and all but ran down the stairs, away from the forbidden third corridor - and from creepy, talking turbans.

He was breathing hard when he reached the library, and Hermione looked up at him in surprise.

"Harry, what's the matter? Did you run here? I hope you've already started on Snape's essay on wormwood - he wants 12 inches of parchment by Friday, you know."

Harry nodded, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. "At the moment, Snape's essay is the last thing I'm worried about." He then proceeded to tell her everything - from the way his scar burned from looking at Snape at the Welcoming Feast, to his dream, and most recently, to the incident with Quirrell.

Hermione drew in her breath. "Harry, you really shouldn't have followed him. He's a _teacher_." She frowned. "And besides, you've already been in trouble once for being up on the third floor corridor."

"But Hermione, you should have heard that voice, coming from the turban…do you have any idea what it could have been?"

In some long forgotten way, the voice had nearly sounded familiar. However, Harry had no way of placing it…and it was certainly impossible that he'd met Quirrell before. The Dursleys would never have allowed another "freak" into their home.

Hermione pursed her lips, looking suddenly uncertain. "I don't know. There must be a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, though. After all, he's a teacher…Dumbledore is the greatest wizard of all time. He wouldn't hire someone who could be a danger to us, would he?"

Harry shrugged. As of yet, Dumbledore hadn't even spoken to him, although he sometimes gazed at Harry with a thoughtful expression in the Great Hall. Harry wondered if Dumbledore, like many others in Hogwarts, had been surprised and disappointed by Harry's Sorting into Slytherin.

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know, Harry. I can do research for you, if you'd like. But until I do, will you promise me you won't go wondering about that corridor anymore? Or follow Quirrell anywhere?"

Her concern touched Harry, it really did. He'd never had friends - or anyone - to feel concerned for him before. But nevertheless, he knew that he couldn't make that promise with a clear conscience.

"I'll try," he told her. She eyed him skeptically, then sighed.

"Why do I have a feeling that that's just your way of _not_ promising me anything?" She rolled her eyes. "Boys. They're just so _stupid_ sometimes. Honestly."

Harry grinned. "At least I didn't lie to you."

Hermione shook her head, smiling, then shooed him away. "I'll do research for you. But first I need to finish-"

"-studying," Harry cut in. Hermione rolled her eyes again, and Harry gave her a wave as he left the library.

As he'd expected, Draco was waiting for him in the Slytherin common room. He looked up from the book he was reading, barely managing to suppress a smile at the sight of Harry. And Harry barely managed to suppress one back. He hated to admit it, but Draco was growing on him.

He plopped down on the couch beside Draco, and Draco held out another box of chocolates. Harry took one gratefully, and eagerly popped it into his mouth. The chocolates Draco's mum sent him were like nothing Harry had ever eaten, and it was likely that in a few months of eating them he'd begin to look like Dudley.

"How was detention?" Draco asked, looking extremely pleased to watch Harry eat his chocolates. Harry nearly snorted - Draco was so weird sometimes.

Harry shrugged. "It was okay. He had me cutting the hearts and eyes out of salamanders."

Draco grimaced in disgust. "That's vile."

"Yeah, it was. And Snape was…weird," he said, for lack of a better word to explain Snape's behavior. "But then, afterwards, I ran into Quirrell." He then proceeded to fill Draco in on what had happened, including the strange, high voice that had emanated from Quirrell's turban.

"I want to find out what he and Snape are hiding in that room. Hermione is doing research for me, but I know she won't break any rules."

Draco scowled. "Of course not. She's a Mud-"

"So I was wondering if you'd come with me," Harry said quickly, cutting off what was sure to be a rude remark about Hermione.

Draco gaped at him, and Harry shifted uncomfortably. Had he been wrong to ask Draco? After all, his father served on the school board. Perhaps Draco was afraid of getting caught and disappointing him.

Instead, Draco hugged him, fiercely and possessively. Startled, Harry fought the instinctive urge to pull away.

Finally, Draco let go of him, and regarded Harry with solemn grey eyes. "I would be honored," he said, with a slight tremor to his voice. "On my honor as a Malfoy and as a pureblood, I shan't breathe a word of it to anybody. On pain of death"

Somehow, Harry managed to not roll his eyes or laugh at Draco's histrionic declaration. "Er, thanks, Draco. We can't do it tonight, but I thought maybe this weekend during dinner or something. Everyone will be in the Great Hall, so we'd be less likely to get caught."

Draco nodded and resumed reading his book. He was still smiling.

_I've had a really hard, stressful couple of weeks, and am currently anxious about my exam results, which determine whether or not I'll graduate. So, if you want to take my mind off things and make me very happy, you can leave a review! Haha, thanks. _


	6. Flying Lessons

_Author's Note: I'm back! Sorry it took so long, but I took a month's vacation, and on top of that, have been job searching and preparing for grad school. But never fear, I refuse to abandon my stories…it just might take a little longer between updates. _

_See the end of the chapter for comments addressing some concerns/questions from the reviews, which I haven't been very good about answering lately. Sorry! Every single review is still MUCH appreciated, believe me! _

Chapter Six - Flying Lessons

Thursday morning, the table was abuzz with excitement from all the first years. It took Harry a moment to remember - they had flying lessons that day! The thought filled him with a familiar combination of shivery anticipation and gut clenching nervousness. Unlike many of the other first year Slytherins - Draco, for example - Harry had yet to even _touch_ a broom, much less ride one. It was yet another instance in which Harry needed to prove himself.

By chance, Harry glanced up at the staff table in time to lock eyes with Snape. Snape blinked, then quickly averted his eyes from Harry's. Harry frowned - Snape had been so _weird _lately. Not that he hadn't always been weird, particularly where Harry was concerned, but for the last couple of nights in detention, he'd been oddly subdued. But then, if he was in on - whatever it was - with Quirrell, it made perfect sense for Snape to not draw as much attention to himself. All the more reason for Harry to keep an even closer eye on him.

Draco poked him in the shoulder, his lips drawn into a pout when Harry turned to look at him.

"I asked you," Draco said, sounding exasperated, "if you're excited about flying lessons today. But you were too busy making eyes at _Snape _to even notice."

Blaise grinned. "Aww, would you rather he made eyes at you, Draco?"

Draco scowled, reddening. "Shut up!"

Blaise shrugged, taking a moment to butter his toast and take a bite. "Just saying."

"Yeah, I'm excited about flying today," Harry said quickly, before an all-out fight could break out between Draco and Blaise. "I just hope I don't look like a complete idiot, is all."

"Don't worry," said Draco. "You think any of the Mudbloods here have flown before? Or the Weasleys, for that matter. They're too poor to afford brooms, Father says." He patted Harry on the arm. "I've flown _hundreds_ of times, myself. There's nothing to it."

"Is it true you were raised by Muggles?" Theodore asked suddenly, surprising Harry. Unlike the other boys in his dormitory, Theodore kept to himself, rarely speaking to the others except when it was necessary. He was especially odd in that he didn't seem to _need _anyone else. Sure, Harry had always been a loner, but it had never been because he'd wanted it. He'd always wanted friends, but until Hogwarts had never had the chance.

"Yes," he said finally. "So?"

"Were they awful?"

All eyes were suddenly on Harry, burning with curiosity. He had no idea how Theodore knew he'd been raised by Muggles - it wasn't as though he'd advertised that fact. Not because he was ashamed of it, but simply because the less he had to think about the Dursleys, the better.

If any of them knew the truth - that he'd grown up in a tiny cupboard with only spiders as friends, what would they think of him? Harry had no intention of ever finding out.

"Yes," he said shortly. "They were awful." He fixed Theodore with a challenging look, daring him to say more. Theodore said nothing, and the conversations around Harry quickly resumed.

Harry stared at Theodore curiously for a moment, then shrugged. Whatever Theodore's angle had been, it probably wasn't even worth thinking over.

Later, Harry walked outside with the other first year Slytherins. It was a beautiful day for flying, Harry decided. Sunny, and only slightly windy - it seemed a good omen for what was to come. Hopefully.

The Gryffindors were trailing closely behind them, and perhaps for this reason Draco was loudly retelling his story about the helicopter. This time, however, it was all the more dramatic and unbelievable.

"…I actually got caught on one of the…the _wings_, and it had sharp spikes all over it. I thought for sure I was dead. One of my arms was crushed in it, and I started to fall. But keep in mind, I'd already dropped my broom! But luckily, just a few feet from the ground, I managed to grab my broom and land. Later, we found out that I had a strange disease from that Muggle contraption that had crushed my arm. They gave me just a few weeks to live. Mother was devastated, but I knew I'd be fine. I'd already made a potion, you see, just for this purpose."

Harry glanced behind him at Hermione, and they exchanged a brief, amused look. He accidentally made eye contact with Ron, who stiffened and quickly looked away.

Finally, they reached the line of brooms and everyone shuffled into place. Harry stood beside Draco, who grinned unabashedly at him. Harry grinned back, rolling his eyes.

Somehow, Ron ended up directly across from him, and the other boy scowled slightly before looking at the ground. Neville Longbottom looked as though he might be sick - staring at his broom as if it threatened to kill him.

Madam Hooch, a stout witch with unruly hair, barked at the students to take their places.

"Welcome to your first flying lesson," she began, then quickly instructed them to put away wands, books, or anything else that might impede their flying ability.

"It's really very simple," she said, walking over to a larger broom, laid separately from the others. "One simply holds their hand over it, and says _up_!"

Much to Harry's surprise, his broom jumped into his hand the moment he said the word, as did Draco's, Ron's and several others. Hermione frowned and repeated the word, and her broom quickly followed suit. Others, it appeared, were not so lucky. Some were red-faced, yelling _up_ louder and louder to heedless brooms; others managed to move their brooms halfway, but the brooms wavered and fell before reaching their hands.

Neville Longbottom had the worst luck. His broom did jump up, but with such force that it caused him to fall on the grass. Harry winced in sympathy. Draco laughed, along with Vince, Greg, and Blaise.

Madam Hooch then proceeded to single Neville out, in spite of the mortified expression on his face. She instructed him to throw a leg over his broom, and despite his apparent reluctance, he did so.

But then…he began rising higher and higher, with no indication of having any control over it. He shrieked, clutching the broom in terror.

"Not like that, Mr. Longbottom!" Madam Hooch called out, sounding panicked. "Mr. Longbottom!"

Neville's broom rose even higher, bucking erratically. He lost his grip, screaming as he fell at least twenty feet to the ground. There was a sickening _crack_ when he landed, and Neville howled with pain, clutching his damaged wrist to his chest.

"Ha, look at what he dropped," Draco said after Madam Hooch had left with Neville for the hospital wing, after having explicitly instructed the students to stay on the ground.

Draco grinned, tossing something round and red up and down. "It looks like a Remembrall - I wonder what the idiot is forgetting? Maybe a brain?" He laughed, and Ron promptly marched up to him, looking as though he might punch Draco.

"That's Neville's!" Ron spat angrily. He held out his hand. "Give it to me."

Draco's grin faded, replaced by a look of pure malice. It took Harry aback for a moment - he'd never seen such an expression on Draco's face before.

"Oh, but you didn't say please, Weasley. Didn't your mother teach you any manners? Oh, that's right. Weasleys don't know any manners. They're too busy sleeping with their pigs and enjoying the smell."

Ron flushed, then without warning, pushed Draco roughly in the chest. Draco stumbled backwards, but managed to catch himself at the last moment. He sneered, then held up the Remembrall.

"Still want this? You'll have to come get it, then." He mounted his broom and kicked off the ground, hovering a few feet in the air. He tossed the Remembrall up and down in his hand for emphasis.

Making a quick decision, Harry rose off the ground as well, barely letting himself feel the amazement of flying as he approached Draco. He heard a few mild exclamations of shock from the other students, but ignored them.

"Come on, Draco. Just give it back." Harry held out his hand.

Draco appeared startled for a moment, but then scowled. "You just want to impress that stupid Weasley."

Harry snorted. "No, Draco. I just don't want you to get in trouble. Especially not over something this stupid."

For a split second, Draco looked as though he might give in. But then he glanced down at Ron, who was watching with a murderous expression, and grinned.

"My offer still stands, Weasley," he said loudly, and then threw the Remembrall with all his might.

Harry didn't even think about it. He just flew - the wind rushing sharply against his face and cutting into his skin. It felt absolutely amazing, like nothing he'd ever experienced before. _I was born for this, _he thought gleefully. Nothing else at Hogwarts had been like this - he could do magic, sure, but he had to work hard for it. And Potions, especially, he had to study twice as much as Draco to do half as well. But this…he could do this forever.

Harry stretched out his hand for the Remembrall, and it met his hand with a satisfying smack. He closed his fingers around it, grinning in triumph before dropping back to the ground.

Draco's mouth was wide open. "I thought you'd never flown before," he said incredulously. Harry shrugged, but before he could say anything, he cringed at the sight of Professor McGonagall hurrying towards them.

"Come with me, Potter," she said briskly, leaving no room for argument. Harry nodded, following her without a word.

Much to Harry's astonishment, Ron spoke up. "It wasn't Harry's fault, Professor. Malfoy got on his broom first, and threw Neville's Remembrall in the air…Harry went after it. If you ask me, you should be _giving_ him points, not taking them away."

McGonagall's lips quirked momentarily. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley," she said dryly. "Now, Mr. Potter…" she motioned Harry along. Harry glanced curiously at Ron, who flushed and looked quickly away.

Heart pounding, Harry followed McGonagall back to the castle. Was this it? Was he going to be thrown out of Hogwarts and sent back to the Dursleys? The thought alone was enough to prompt him to action.

"I'm really sorry, Professor," Harry said, catching up to McGonagall so he was nearly walking side by side with her. "I know it was wrong of me, but I'll never do anything like it again. Just…please don't kick me out of Hogwarts. I'll do anything."

McGonagall's lips quirked in that strange way again. "Hush, Potter. I'm taking you to Professor Snape's office, and you're to explain exactly what you did. You won't be kicked out of school," she added, her tone softening slightly. "I promise."

Harry found himself inclined to trust her - McGonagall, out of all the teachers, seemed the most fair. Unlike Snape, she didn't favor her own House over all others, and was just as likely to award points to a Slytherin as to a Gryffindor. She was strict yet kind, and Harry knew that she wouldn't tell him something if it wasn't true. So he nodded, trusting her fully, yet still filled with trepidation as they approached Snape's office.

*

Unlike others he could mention, Severus utilized every second of his free time. For instance, right now he was grading papers during his free period, whereas others might have chosen to spend it socializing or otherwise wasting time. True, Severus didn't exactly have friends in which to socialize with, but if one ignored that small detail, his usage of time was something to be impressed with.

Severus marked another paper with a flourish (a "D" this time…he was feeling generous), and rubbed his forehead tiredly. He hated teaching. Honestly, truly hated it. He didn't have any sort of knack for it, and no interest at all in improving future generations of wizarding Britain. If not for Dumbledore's outdated ideas of penance and redemption, Severus would be perfectly happy to spend the remainder of his long life hidden away from all human contact. In fact, a favorite fantasy of his was one in which he designed this perfect hideaway - perhaps a tunnel deep, deep into the ground, where he'd finally be free to feel sorry for himself and hate people in peace.

There was a knock on his door, and he looked up from the papers in mild annoyance.

"Come in!"

The door opened, and in walked Minerva McGonagall with Harry Potter in tow. Severus immediately bit back the sharp remark he had planned on making - he hated to admit it, but there was something about McGonagall which would forever make him feel like a skinny first year in Transfiguration class. He reckoned she knew it too, as a single stern glance from her was all it ever took to shut him up.

"Can I help you?" he asked, gritting his teeth. Potter lifted his head up and glared defiantly at Severus, which was apparently what he did best.

"Severus, I seem to recall you lamenting over Slytherin's Quidditch team for the year, particularly your new Seeker. I've the perfect solution for you - put Potter on as your Seeker."

Potter was unable to conceal his expression of shock, and he stared at McGonagall in surprise. Severus nearly choked.

"First off, you're well aware, I'm sure, that first years aren't allowed on the Quidditch teams. Secondly, I find it curious that you'd care to help my team, Minerva. The last time I checked, Slytherin's been in firm possession of the House Cup for quite some time. I wonder, is Potter so abysmal, and you, so desperate, that his becoming Seeker is Gryffindor's only hope?"

McGonagall rolled her eyes. "You Slytherins. Always so quick to find a nefarious plot in everything. Potter, why don't you explain to Professor Snape what you just did?"

Potter swallowed, looking warily at Severus. "I broke the rules, sir," he said carefully. "Madam Hooch told us not to leave the ground, but I did it anyway."

Severus scowled, feeling another headache coming on. "And?" he said impatiently.

Potter scowled back. "I flew, okay? Dra- _someone _threw Neville's Remembrall up in the air, and I was afraid it would get broken. So I went after it, and I caught it."

There was a _so, there!_ finality to Potter's tone which quickly put Severus on the defensive. Much like James Potter, _this_ Potter did not apologize for his actions, either. But unlike the elder Potter, he'd yet to call him Snivellus and plot to have him killed…and he'd been Sorted into Slytherin, as Severus was forced to continuously remind himself. So, Severus wasn't going to give into Potter's innate need to verbally spar with him (Severus would have won, anyway), and would instead continue searching for the part of Potter that was Lily. If it existed.

_So, there!_

Severus sat back in his chair and studied Potter carefully. Looking into the boy's eyes, he delicately prodded with Legilimency, curious as to what he'd see there. Several images swam up to the forefront of Potter's mind: _Potter, sitting glumly in a cramped cupboard. A pig-like boy pushing a much smaller Potter to the ground and then laughing. Potter, talking to a snake behind a glass wall. A flash of green light, screaming…_

Severus gasped in sudden pain, clamping his hand down on his suddenly burning Dark Mark. Potter gasped nearly simultaneously, hand pressed against his scar. He glared at Severus accusingly, green eyes flashing in hatred.

Remembering McGonagall's presence, Severus quickly regained his composure.

"Minerva, I'd like a word alone with Mr. Potter, please," he said smoothly, ignoring the pandemonium in his mind. McGonagall nodded, looking smug and satisfied - and something else. Severus had no doubts as to her shrewd intelligence - he'd often suggested slyly to her that she would have done well in Slytherin - and there was next to no chance that she'd missed the exchange between him and Potter. Hopefully, she wouldn't understand its significance - Severus wasn't sure that _he_ understood its significance - but he had little doubt that she would persist in trying.

"I'm grateful that you brought Mr. Potter's…gifts to my attention," he continued. "And I'm certain I can put them to use. I'll speak to the Headmaster immediately." McGonagall nodded again before leaving his office.

Potter was breathing hard, nearly frozen with fear. Yet…there was something resolute about his posture, bespeaking of a bravery so bone-deep to be innate. He was afraid of Severus, yes, but he was prepared to stand his ground and fight, damn the consequences. It disturbed Severus more than he'd care to admit - he was just a child, after all.

"What did you do, sir?" Potter breathed, eyes wide. "I felt…I _know_ you felt that."

Severus swallowed, feeling more out of sorts than he'd felt since…well, since the Dark Lord had been in power. There was clearly much that Dumbledore hadn't told him, as per usual, and he felt his blood boil in indignation. He had half a mind to probe violently into the boy's mind, find out all he could, and then march straight into Dumbledore's office with his accusations.

But then…there was the fact that he'd sworn to protect Lily's child, and there was nothing that could ever deter him from that goal. Stronger than his allegiance to the Dark Lord had ever been, stronger than his current allegiance to Dumbledore, was his love for Lily. And if Dumbledore was planning to use her son as a pawn in some grand chess game, Severus would be the first to put a stop to it.

"Mr. Potter - Harry," he said softly, causing the boy's eyes to practically bug out. "I assure you that you have nothing to fear from me. I wasn't aware…if you'd allow me…" he pointed at Potter's scar, currently hidden under a layer of unruly hair.

Potter eyed him warily, but nodded. Severus moved out from behind his desk and knelt in front of Potter, carefully brushing the hair away from his forehead.

The lightning bolt scar was red and inflamed, and even without drawing out his wand, Severus could feel the latent pulse of Dark magic, causing his Dark Mark to prickle. He was amazed he'd never noticed it before.

Severus backed away from Potter, but maintained his crouch so as to keep eye-level. His intention was not to intimidate - for once, and Potter needed to know that.

"Potter, I need you to answer me honestly. Does your scar become inflamed often?"

"It never used to, as much," he answered, biting his lip and regarding Severus skeptically. "I mean, sometimes I'd have a bad dream, and I'd wake up with it hurting. But…since I've been at Hogwarts, it does it _all_ the time. With…with Professor Quirrell. And…and with you, sir." The latter was spoken in a defiant whisper, and he met Severus's eyes bravely.

Severus stood to his feet, fighting the urge to pace. He gritted his teeth. "Potter, can you speak to snakes?"

Potter looked confused for a moment. "Well…yes. I set a python on my cousin, once. I didn't mean to, and he definitely deserved it." He shrugged. "Can't all wizards speak with snakes?"

"No, Potter," Severus said carefully. "Speaking with snakes is an extremely rare gift, and one that makes many people uneasy. I'd suggest keeping it to yourself, at least for the time being."

Potter nodded. "Okay. I haven't told anyone, anyway. I didn't think it was a big deal."

Disturbed, the wheels in his head turning overtime, Severus managed to mutter, "You can go, now, Potter. I'll speak with the Headmaster about your playing on the Quidditch team. You should be honored - it's not often I bend the rules."

Potter nodded, fixing Severus with a questioning glance before hurrying out of the office.

Alone at last, Severus rubbed his Dark Mark through his robe. It was still tender to the touch, much as he imagined Potter's scar must be. Ever the Slytherin, he plotted his next move carefully.

_A couple of comments to address some concerns: this is _not_ a straight re-telling of SS/PS…some events will happen earlier, others will happen later, and some might not happen at all. And of course, some events will play out similarly, others much differently. Unlike the original series, there are no mysteries for me to keep hidden from the readers. You already know everything! Due to this, all I can do is mix things up and make them as new and interesting as possible. And hopefully keep you in suspense as to HOW events will play out. _

_A couple of people expressed concern as to Snape's quick turn-around…I guess I don't really see it that way. Snape is, and will always be, the same old greasy git…but his goal was always to protect Harry, Lily's child. I've always wondered how Snape might have responded to a Slytherin-sorted Harry…and now is my chance to explore that. _

_I've been asked if this will be HP/DM slash…absolutely not! They're eleven! _

_As to Draco's possessive attitude towards Harry - this is how I see it. Draco is an unimaginably spoiled child, and he's always been given everything he's ever wanted. For now, Harry is his newest, shiniest toy. But unlike most toys, Harry can choose at any moment to stop being friends with Draco - something that greatly upsets Draco's perception of his place in the world. He's never had to work at being a friend to someone, he's never experienced the possibility that a person wouldn't want to be friends with him. The only thing he knows is to hold on tightly and never let go. And that's how I see the Draco/Harry dynamic at the moment. Will they ever be true friends? Well, keep reading __J _

_Anyway, hope that helped! As always, reviews are loved! _


	7. Snape and Dumbledore Have a Little Chat

_Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I hope I managed to reply to everyone, but if I didn't, trust that I fully intended to, and your review is much, much appreciated. I'm really enjoying writing this story, and the thought-provoking, thoughtful reviews I've received have been the icing on the proverbial cake. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Now, without further ado…_

Chapter Seven-Snape and Dumbledore Have a Little Chat

_Snape was so weird!_

Harry didn't know if he'd ever have the man figured out. One minute he was being his usual git self, causing Harry's scar to hurt, and the next it was almost as if he was _concerned_ about Harry. That couldn't be, of course. But, Harry remembered, he was going to let Harry play Quidditch! Draco had taught Harry a little about the game, and so far it sounded _much_ more exciting than the football games that Uncle Vernon loved so much. And it involved flying, which Harry was already certain he loved.

Underneath Harry's excitement about Quidditch, of course, were his nagging questions from the encounter with Snape. Snape obviously knew something Harry didn't - and that bothered Harry very much. Adults always seemed to think they knew better than him, and so far, they never had. The Dursleys certainly hadn't, the teachers at Harry's primary school hadn't…Harry knew he was young, but he certainly wasn't _stupid_. Whatever it was that Snape wasn't telling him, Harry would figure it out. Eventually.

But for now…

Harry felt for the Remembrall in his pocket. Snape had told him to leave, but he hadn't told him _where_ he was to go. Class was nearly over, anyway, and after that was lunch. Hopefully Neville was still in the hospital wing…Harry really didn't want to make a big deal out of giving him his Remembrall back.

Neville, sitting glumly on one of the hospital beds, seemed extremely surprised to see Harry. Deciding to cut right to the chase, Harry held out the Remembrall.

"I think you dropped this," Harry told him, shrugging. "Just thought I'd give it back."

Neville's plump face lit up, and he eagerly took the Remembrall from Harry. "Wow, thanks! I…" he cringed, suddenly bashful. "I knew I'd be pants at flying. Gran would never even let me _near _a broom." He smiled sheepishly. "I guess I should have listened to her."

Harry suddenly felt very sorry for him. Though Ron had quickly stood up for Neville, he had a feeling it had more to do with Gryffindor solidarity than with genuine friendship. Neville seemed, much like Hermione, to be a bit of an outcast.

"Well," Harry said. "Maybe you just need more practice? My friend is really clever at Potions, for example, but I'm not. But if I study really hard, I do okay at it." He shrugged. "So you're not the best at flying, but I bet you're really good at something else, right?"

"Well," Neville said shyly. "I am…I'm pretty good at Herbology. I like plants."

"There you go," said Harry. "Er, I'll see you later, then. I'm not exactly sure that I'm supposed to be here."

"Hey," Neville called, just as Harry began to creep out of the hospital wing. "Thanks. You're…you're not like other Slytherins, you know."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not sure exactly what Slytherins are supposed to be like. I'm just me. But…you're welcome. Maybe sometime you can teach me about plants."

Neville's face shone like the sun.

*

Draco cringed slightly when he saw Harry finally show up to lunch. Was he very angry with him? Would he still want to be Draco's friend, now that Weasley seemed set to reconcile with him?

Much to his surprise, Harry sat beside Draco as usual and asked him to pass the pitcher of pumpkin juice. Draco did so, biting his lip as he watched Harry pour himself a glass.

Draco couldn't even explain what it was about Harry that made him so…so un-Malfoyish. A Malfoy, he had learned at a young age, was never supposed to grovel, never supposed to show too much interest in others. Others would be naturally interested in Draco anyway, his father had patiently explained, due to his money and status. He should be picky as to whom he befriended, remembering that Hogwarts would be a steppingstone to making powerful, lasting connections which would serve him well in life. Friends like Vince and Greg, while they were certainly useful, and as fellow Purebloods, the right kind of friends, would never serve to propel him forward politically.

Draco had no doubt that his father would consider Harry the right kind of friend…in fact, when Draco had written and told him about Harry, he'd congratulated Draco on having made such a powerful, useful friend. But…one thing confused him. Shouldn't Harry - and others - be the ones queuing up to befriend Draco, rather than the other way around? He'd been so excited to attend Hogwarts - to make friends. No one had ever told him he'd actually have to _do _anything to make friends, and he hadn't planned to. Until he'd met Harry, and all the rules had been flung out the window.

In a strange way, he was reminded of the Crup puppy he'd received for his eighth birthday - he'd been so excited about it, he'd barely slept for the first week. And it was supposed to be _his_ puppy, so it went without saying that the Crup should have slept on his floor, should have followed _him _around, should have loved _him_ more than anyone. But no…the stupid thing had ignored Draco, had followed his mother around, had loved her instead of Draco. To this day, it still followed her around, wagging its stupid forked tails whenever it saw her. Draco hated it. He'd told his father he wanted to get rid of it, but his father had laughed at him - at him!

Draco scowled into his glass of pumpkin juice, sneaking a glance at Harry. Harry appeared unperturbed, eating his lunch and drinking his juice as though nothing had happened. Finally, Draco couldn't stand it anymore.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Draco?"

Well, at least Harry didn't sound angry. That was a start.

Draco took a deep breath. Harry would _not_ be like the Crup puppy…he was Draco's now, and Draco wouldn't give him up without a fight.

"I'd like to apologize to you, for any offense I've caused." There. That was a nice, diplomatic apology, one of which his mother would greatly approve.

Harry gave him an odd look. "Er, thanks, Draco. I'm really not the person you should apologize to, though."

Draco bristled slightly. If he meant Weasley, there was _no way in hell_. Ignoring the latter part of Harry's comment, he said, "I hope you weren't in much trouble."

Harry actually grinned at that. "I'm not in trouble at all! Believe it or not, Snape wants to put me on the Quidditch team - as the new Seeker! Can you believe that?"

Draco struggled with two conflicting emotions - jealousy, and the need for Harry's approval. He managed to smile back. "Wow. That's…that's amazing, Harry. First years aren't even supposed to own brooms, much less play on the Quidditch teams. But you…you were really good."

"Thanks." Harry bit his lip, suddenly looking unsure of himself. "You're really good too, Draco. I wish you could be on the team…I'm not going to know anybody. Maybe it won't be so great, after all."

Draco snorted. "Don't be stupid. Of _course_ it will be great - it's Quidditch! If…if you want, I can go over the basics with you. You know, so you know what to expect. And of _course_ I'll be on the team for next year."

Harry brightened visibly. "That would be brilliant!" He smiled, and Draco felt as though his heart might melt. Was this what it felt like to have a friend? Draco had no idea - but he knew he liked it.

*

Severus thought and plotted for the remainder of the day. He was finished with classes for the day, and though he had stacks of parchment on his desk to grade, he found he couldn't stop thinking about Potter. He sighed, pouring himself a generous tumbler full of mead. Severus wasn't much of a drinker, as he, more than most, couldn't afford a lapse in self-control, but his Potter-inspired headache compelled him to try a more drastic approach of dispelling it.

There was a knock on the door, and Severus cocked his head in surprise. Surely it couldn't be one of his Slytherins, not at this time of day, and he had no detentions scheduled that he was aware of.

"Come in!" he said coolly, carefully arranging his features into a disinterested mask when Albus Dumbledore walked in.

"Good afternoon, Severus," the Headmaster said jovially, the ever-present twinkle dancing in his eyes. "I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time - that is, if you're not busy?" He raised an eyebrow at the tumbler of mead. "Or otherwise…indisposed," he added with a chuckle.

Severus bristled. "I'm done with lessons for the day, Headmaster," he said defensively. "If you're inferring that I'd neglect my duties in any way…"

"Oh, Severus," Dumbledore said, the twinkle fading from his eyes like a dying star. "You know I'd infer nothing of the sort. Particularly where you're concerned." He gazed sadly at Severus for a moment. "I'd like to have a seat, if I may."

Severus waved a hand, feeling, as usual, stripped-bare of all defenses in the face of Dumbledore's scrutiny. "By all means."

"Thank you." Dumbledore pulled out his wand, and in a flashy show, conjured a chair out of thin air.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I take it the standard-fare in my office is disagreeable to you?" He said dryly, but with no true malice behind the words.

Dumbledore chuckled, settling into the newly conjured chair. "Slightly disagreeable to my back, I'm afraid. The perils of growing old, my dear boy."

Severus snorted sardonically. "You're far from old, Headmaster."

Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, Severus. Never let it be said that you're lacking in kindness." He sighed, his smile fading, replaced by a slightly dreamy expression. "The truth is, I'm very old. Very old, indeed."

He stared almost beseechingly at Severus for several disconcerting moments, finally prompting Severus to say, rather brusquely:

"Was there a particular reason for your visit? Not that it isn't welcome, of course," he added quickly.

Dumbledore sighed, his fingers steeple-like in his lap. "I understand there was something of an incident with our Mr. Potter?"

"You could say that," Severus said carefully, wondering exactly what, and how much, Dumbledore knew. "Professor McGonagall dragged the boy into my office earlier…apparently he'd been in something of an altercation with Mr. Malfoy. He'd flown…apparently rather well. Minerva suggested I make him my Seeker, and as I generally trust her judgment as far as these things go, I'm considering it." He stared at Dumbledore, whose face remained impassive.

"Of course," he added, taking a careful sip of mead. "I would need your approval, Headmaster. I understand it's highly irregular, with Potter being a first year and all."

"I trust your judgment, Severus," said Dumbledore. He gestured to the bottle of mead. "If I may?"

Severus inclined his head. "Of course." He watched as Dumbledore conjured himself a tumbler, pouring a small amount of liquid into it. He took a delicate sip, closing his eyes in purported bliss.

"Excellent stuff, Severus. Thank you." He took another sip, carefully dabbing at the corners of his mouth with the sleeve of his robe. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Mr. Potter. I understand you've spent a good deal of time with him in detention, is that correct? Would I take today's incident to mean that perhaps your opinion of him is changed?"

"Changed - in what way?"

Dumbledore gave him a meaningful look from over his spectacles. "Don't be obtuse, Severus. I trust you no longer view the boy as a replica of his father?"

"Perhaps not," Severus said softly, taking another drink. "Mr. Potter is certainly not what I expected."

"Ah," Dumbledore said, the twinkle back in his eye. "Yet it is the unexpected which allows us to adapt, make choices - show our true colors, if you will."

"The boy can talk to snakes," Severus said carefully, watching Dumbledore for a reaction. There was none. "And that scar of his is absolutely pulsing with Dark magic…as I'm sure you were aware, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "Yes. Do go on."

Severus gritted his teeth. "He claims to have nightmares in which he wakes up to find his scar bleeding. He also indicated that my presence, along with Professor Quirrell's, causes his scar to become inflamed."

Dumbledore nodded again, looking extremely tired and old. "I'm sure the situation is apparent to you, then."

"Indeed," Severus said, as he took yet another drink. If Severus's hands _could _shake under pressure, if he hadn't so obsessively trained all telling impulses out of himself, they might have shaken then. For the thought of the Dark Lord still being about in the world…it was beyond comprehension.

Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly, then reopened them. "Aside from that…what is he like? Harry, that is."

Severus sighed once again. "Like I said, he's not what I expected. In fact…" he paused, his next admission so raw, so painful, that only the aged wizard before him would ever have wind of it: "I'm beginning to think he might be more like her. Like Lily."

Severus swallowed painfully. Surely it was the mead that had managed to drag that particular confession - that particular hope - out of him.

Dumbledore regarded him sadly. "Oh, Severus," he said softly. "You think that could be…despite the many similarities he shares with Tom…"

"I'm well aware of that," Severus snapped, slightly stung. It went unspoken that Potter's Sorting into Severus's own House was one of the many similarities of which Dumbledore spoke…had Potter been Sorted into Gryffindor, Severus had no doubt Dumbledore would feel differently. He would likely mark it as the innate goodness of James and Lily Potter shining on in the face of darkness. Yes, Severus was well aware that the Headmaster favored his lions over all others…especially the Slytherins. And even so many years after Sirius Black's prank had gone awry, the memory of Dumbledore's handling of said incident still caused Severus's pulse to race in indignation.

And…there was more. He respected Dumbledore, looked up to him in ways he'd never been able to in his own father. Severus hated to reduce his feelings down to something so commonplace and maudlin, yet there it was. Severus had learned long ago that the only way in which to suppress his feelings was by first confronting them head-on, in all their ugliness. Yes, he was still jealous of the preferential treatment James Potter and his ilk had received…yet here he was, alive, whilst James Potter was dead, and Sirius Black was rotting in Azkaban. The latter thought was enough to cause a surge of pleasure to race through his veins, which he quickly did away with. It was neither the time nor the place, after all.

Dumbledore was regarding him thoughtfully. "If you truly believe that, Severus," he said slowly. "I will choose to trust you. However, much as I discouraged your comparing young Harry with his father, let us not forget that, while he may share much in common with Lily, he is still very much his own person. I fear I've waited too long…left him unguided. You, Severus, are in the unique position to offer Harry guidance, to train him, and one day, prepare him for what is to come."

"And what exactly _is _to come?" Severus asked, mind slightly reeling.

Dumbledore smiled, then chuckled softly. "Ah, if only my skills extended into Divination! But alas, I've never had much use for the subject…a fact I'll trust you to keep to yourself, as I wouldn't wish to upset Sybil." He downed the remainder of his mead, then rose to his feet. The conjured chair dissipated with a flick of his wand, along with the tumbler.

"I thank you, Severus, for this little chat. I trust you to keep me informed of the situation with our young friend, along with…other matters."

Severus nodded. "Yes, Headmaster. Of course."

_Please review! Pretty please? _


	8. Three Headed Dog

**Hello, everyone! So sorry about the long wait…as I explained on my other (equally long-awaited) update, I've had some crazy IRL things as of late…and kind of psyched myself out of writing for awhile. But I'm back, hopefully to stay! Thanks to everyone who reviewed - I'm very sorry if I never got back to you. Your reviews, as always, are much appreciated. Now, without further ado…**

Chapter Eight - Three Headed Dog

That Friday during dinner, Harry decided to put his plan into effect. As the rest of the students trooped into the Great Hall (and quite honestly, the idea of food was _extremely _tempting to Harry), he gave Draco a nod, receiving one in return. Together, the two boys backed away from the crowd as inconspicuously as possible, then hid behind a suit of armor until the corridors appeared clear.

"Okay," Harry said, stepping out from behind the suit of armor, his eyes flitting up and down the corridor. "It's clear."

"Right, then," said Draco, his careful drawl barely concealing his obvious excitement. "Let's see what this whole third floor corridor business is all about then, shall we?"

Cautiously, they made their way down the corridor without incident, save for the occasional shifty-eyed portrait looking at them suspiciously.

Harry let out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding when they finally reached the staircase, and they were just beginning to ascend when a furtively whispered, "Harry!" caused them both to jump. Harry wheeled around - and cursed under his breath. It was Hermione, and she looked none-too-pleased with him.

"Hermione! What are you doing?"

Hermione frowned, her brows furrowing into a serious knit. "Harry, do you realize all the rules you're about to break? Do you realize you could be _expelled_?"

"And it's your business, why?" Draco asked rather snottily. "Go stick your nose back where it's wanted - in a book. The _only_ place it's wanted."

"Draco!" Harry said sharply, causing Draco to flinch, then stare sullenly at the floor.

Hermione appeared slightly crestfallen from Draco's attack, yet drew in a resolute sigh and raised her head, addressing only Harry. "Harry, remember you told me that Hagrid took you to Gringotts on your birthday?"

Harry frowned. "Yeah, so?"

"_So_," Hermione said emphatically. "Have you not been reading the _Daily Prophet_?"

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Draco asked exasperatedly.

Hermione sighed. "Harry, the exact same day you went to Gringotts, a vault was broken into, yet there was nothing in it to take. Apparently it had already been emptied…don't you find that strange in the least?"

As a matter of fact, he did. Harry remembered how Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, retrieving nothing but a single, grubby package. Official business from Dumbledore, he'd explained to the goblin, or something like that…

Mind spinning, Harry asked, "do you know the number of the vault?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, the goblins won't tell. But the _Daily Prophet _is speculating that Dark wizards and witches were involved in the break in…but of course the vault was already empty. Sort of strange, isn't it? Especially considering something is being hidden up in the forbidden corridor?"

"Maybe," Harry conceded. "Hagrid did take something from another vault, a vault other than mine, that is…had a letter from Dumbledore and everything. But it was just a grubby little package!"

"Well, then there's clearly more to it than you thought," Hermione said smugly, looking extremely satisfied.

"All the more reason to find out what it is!" Harry all but snapped. He understood Hermione's concern, but really… "Come on, Hermione - if it's something that both Snape and Quirrell are after, it can't be anything good, right?" He turned to Draco, who appeared slightly bemused by the whole thing. "What do you think, Draco? Still want to find out what it is?"

"Of _course_," Draco said, glaring at Hermione. "As soon as Granger butts out and minds her own business-"

"Hardly," Hermione said haughtily, glaring back at Draco. "Don't you understand the trouble you could be in? I _have_ to go with you now, or else turn you in."

"You wouldn't-" Harry started.

"Of course not. Which is why I'm going with you." And with that, Hermione began ascending the stairs, motioning for them to follow. "Come on, dinner will be over soon…oh, I can't believe I'm doing this, but _someone_ with sense should go with you…"

"She's a nightmare, honestly," Draco muttered darkly under his breath, and despite himself, Harry snickered.

When at last they reached the end of the corridor, Harry once again reached for the doorknob, heart thumping against his ribs in anticipation. He turned the doorknob - then realized with a crash of disappointment it was locked.

Hermione gently pushed Harry out of the way, then tapped her wand against the lock. "_Alohomora_!"

The door swung open, and Harry hardly had a chance to be impressed by Hermione's mastery of the charm as all three pushed through the door. Harry slammed it shut, then turned around to _finally _see what both Quirrell and Snape were after…

Harry felt a scream catch in his throat. _This _was the forbidden third floor corridor…and it was an entire corridor, in which contained an enormous monster of a dog - a dog with three heads, three heads with three pairs of jagged fangs - and all six rolling, mad eyes trained on Draco, Hermione, and Harry. Harry felt frozen for a moment, but then the dog growled warningly, prompting him into action.

"Run!" he yelled, groping wildly for the doorknob and turning it. Hermione and Draco pushed out of the corridor with him, one of them slamming the door shut. The three stared at each other for a moment, each panting, white, and shell-shocked.

"Let's get out of here," Hermione commanded, and not even Draco argued with her. They ran until they reached Hermione's corner in the library, after which they all simultaneously collapsed into the chairs.

"Well," Harry said, slightly aware that he was trembling, which he made an effort to hide. "That…thing certainly wasn't what Hagrid took from the Gringott's vault."

"Of course not!" Hermione snapped, obviously shaking as well. She took a deep breath, as though steadying herself. "I don't suppose either of you noticed what it was standing on, did you?"

Harry gave a small laugh. "You're kidding, right?"

"I noticed," Draco said, the first words Harry had heard him utter since the incident. Draco was very pale - he was breathing hard, his fingers clutching the table for support. "It was standing on a trapdoor." His eyes rolled back slightly - Harry felt honestly worried that he might faint.

"Draco…?"

"I'm fine!" Draco snapped. "It just wasn't what I expected, that's all."

Harry wondered exactly _what_ Draco had been expecting to find in a forbidden corridor, but let it drop.

"Exactly," Hermione said, somehow remarkably composed. "A trapdoor. Harry, it's guarding something - obviously Dumbledore put him there to guard something very important, something he was afraid wouldn't be safe anywhere else."

"Hagrid did say," Harry said, "that other than Gringotts, Hogwarts is probably the safest place in the world to hide something. But…what with people like Snape going after…whatever it is, I don't see how it's any safer."

"Harry," Hermione said patiently. "Dumbledore is the greatest wizard of all time - everyone knows that. I'm sure he knows what he's doing, so maybe we should just leave it alone. Before we all wind up _expelled_." She harrumphed loudly, then made a show of rising to her feet.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked.

"I'm going back to my common room. And I suggest you both do the same." At Harry's apparent look of disbelief, her expression softened. "Harry, this is something we ought to not meddle in. Dumbledore knows what he's doing - we have to trust that."

"But aren't you at all _curious_, Granger?" Draco drawled softly, raising his eyebrows. "I thought you were all about learning things."

Harry looked at him in surprise. Draco shrugged.

"_Of course_ I'm curious!" Hermione stated emphatically. "But I'm not above the rules, and neither are you!" She sighed. "Good night, both of you." And with that said, she turned on her heel and left.

There was a long moment of silence. Draco appeared to have recovered - he had some color back, and was no longer breathing hard. In fact, he was now flush with excitement.

"Right," Draco said finally. "Now that _she's_ out of the way, we just have to figure out what it's guarding. Something dangerous, I reckon."

"Something that shouldn't end up in the wrong hands."

Draco tilted his chair back, precariously close to falling backwards. It was the sort of thing Aunt Petunia would have yelled at him for, but it made Harry grin. For all of Draco's wealth and posh mannerisms, he really was just another kid.

"What?" Draco asked, grinning back. He let the chair drop, then his face went oddly serious. "Harry?"

"Yeah."

"Were you…" He flushed slightly. "Were you scared?"

"I'd have to be mad to not have been. But…it was pretty cool. Don't you think? Draco?"

And it had been. Harry could still feel his pulse racing, could feel the adrenaline pumping through him. It was an intoxicating feeling.

Draco shuddered. "I was really scared," he admitted. "But…" he shrugged. "It's the most fun I've had in my entire life." He grinned unabashedly. "I'd be bored out of my skull if you weren't my friend."

Harry laughed. "You're so weird, Draco," he said, unable to help himself.

Draco made an obscene hand gesture and punched him in the arm, but laughed as well. They laughed themselves silly until Madam Pince ordered them to leave the library.

**Please review!**


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